


The Proposal

by jigglyjelly28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, Christmas, Condemned!Draco, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Ex-Boyfriends, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Partnership, Humour, Kinda like the movie, Manipulative Draco, Muggle Life, Plot based on a film, Post-Hogwarts, Retelling, Rich!Hermione, Romance, Snark, Suggestive Themes, The Proposal - Freeform, dramione - Freeform, fake/pretend pregnancy, plot based on The Proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jigglyjelly28/pseuds/jigglyjelly28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For three years, Hermione Granger has slaved as the assistant to Draco Malfoy, Chief Editor at Dragonhide Publishers. When Draco, former Death Eater, is sentenced to 6 years in Azkaban after his 5 year trial is brought to a close, he hatches a scheme to show the Wizengamot his ideals on Muggles and Muggle-borns have changed. Based on the film "The Proposal"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lattes and Late-To-Work-Days

CHAPTER 1: LATTES AND LATE-TO-WORK DAYS

" _Shit_."

Hermione Granger quickly swung her legs over the side of her bed after she read the numbers on the clock face and stopped the incessant beeping. Usually, she would have been awake almost half an hour ago now and on her way out of the house to pick up a latte for her boss and herself from Starbucks, but today she was only just stepping out of her shower and hastily drying herself.

She checked the time again and cursed. He would be walking into his office in about five minutes now, and she would be dammed if she had to see his bloody smirk as he told her with too much pleasure and amusement that she was late. Hermione had only been late once before – and that was on her first day of employment. Right after that work day had ended, she swore to herself to do all things possible to make sure she _never_ had to see that pleased grin on his pointy face again. So far, she had lived up to that promise that she had made, but today, stupidly, she had allowed herself to slip up.

Again and again, her boss had tried to cause her to be late by loading her up with various tasks the day or night before that just _had_ to be done in the morning – mainly because she still had stuff to do the day or night previous. And he only cared enough to bury her with work because she suspected that he had made a promise to himself at her interview, when he had arrogantly replied to her remark by saying she might not able to serve someone without screwing up - and then (as he put it) "showed great generosity by hiring her then and there". He didn't even allow her to let the fact that he had hired her sink in before dismissing her from his office, telling her what latte he expected to have handed to him and when and that if she was late 3 times, she was fired. If she remembered correctly, he had then slammed the door in her face – but not before she caught a glance of his smug face.

She quickly put on her shoes, grabbed her wand, and made her way down the stairs of her apartment block. She checked the time once more and sighed irritably. If she knew the habits of her boss at all from the time she had been working for him, he was already at his office and would have gleefully noticed her absence as soon as he stepped out of the lift. Right now, as she burst through the doors of Starbucks, she thought, he was probably totalling up the minutes that she was late.

Smug bastard.

In the back of her mind, Hermione feared that her boss, _the_ Draco Malfoy, ferret extraordinaire, had finally become powerful enough to cause everything in her life on this particular day to be a complete disaster. She knew that she was too late to try gain back any satisfaction of trying to arrive there before him, but she was planning at least not to be late by much. However, that clearly had been destroyed from the size of the line inside of the building.

The line, starting from the cash register at the desk and stretching all the way back to a little bit before the doors, was going to at least take half an hour to wait in – but she didn't have that sort of time. Usually, the queue never quite reached the length of this one, and even now, she couldn't think of a reason why so many people were up today at almost 9 o'clock in the morning. As far as she knew, there was nothing special about today.

Back to the task at hand. Would it be less painful to arrive without his latte or with his latte, but almost an hour late? She just didn't know.

"Hermione! Hey, Hermione Granger!" Someone called from the front of the queue. She vaguely recognised the voice and looked around the line of people to see whom it was that was calling her name. As soon as she saw who it was, she could've slapped herself on the head, if it were not that she was in public. He tilted his shaggy blond head for her to come down to the front desk, where he was actually standing behind, and handed her two cups.

Sometimes she questioned her boss's constant need to have the same flavoured latte from the same shop (which was coincidentally on the corner of the block she lived on; sometimes she thought he only hired her for that reason) every single day of work, but it was times like today that she was grateful.

"You probably need these," he said with a smile as they made an exchange: her money for the lifesaving lattes.

She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, said, "I owe you one, Nate" and ran back through the doors, as well as she could while cradling two cups to her chest and while in heels.

By some miracle, she had made it to the Apparation point down one of London's less dodgy alleyways, which she used every morning going to work and every evening on the way home, without tripping over and breaking her ankle or spilling the hot liquid down her. She was just ready to Apparate when he phone rang. Hermione made a distressed noise as she quickly levitated the two cups with her wand, before tucking it inside her skirt and searching for her phone in her bag. She didn't even need to check the ID to know who could possibly be calling her this early.

She answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear, a lie about just arriving outside the building on her lips, but he spoke first. "You're late," a drawling voice said. She could almost hear the smirk through the phone and she dug her fingernails into her hand to refrain from saying something snarky back to him that would delay her even longer. "How long has it been now? Oh, it looks like you're coming up to an hour – that's the latest you've ever been. If you're late again Granger, I'll hold true to my promise and fire you." There was a pause on his side of the line as she heard him speak to someone else briefly before returning his attention back to her. "You should hurry up; I've got a meeting in ten minutes and I need to see you before attending it."

"Don't let me keep you," she grumbled and he tutted quietly on the other side. She rolled her eyes. "I'm almost there, anyway. I'm just outside the building as we speak."

He chuckled. "You amuse me Granger, thinking that you can lie to me like that." She heard something fall on his end of the phone, as if he had thrown a stack of books onto the floor. She grimaced; it would seem like something he'd do, especially since there had been moments where she had walked into his office at the wrong time – and the books strewn across the floor, unfortunately, were the second thing for her to notice. Although, truth be told, she had only walked in on her boss having company in his office twice, before she learnt that it would be best to announce herself in case he was busy again. The other times books had been thrown on the floor the reason behind it had been a lot more innocent, such as when he was angry, needing room to kick his legs up onto his desk or for a seat on the windowsill on a nice day.

It gave her great relief to think that he was most likely not having sex whilst on the phone to her, especially since it must be a mood killer. Still, it was probably a plausible suggestion for Malfoy if he ever wanted to ruin her day even more, and he was terribly good at keeping up a facade and controlling his voice.

"I can actually see you-"

Wait.

"You're spying on me?" She whispered furiously down the phone, trying not to draw attention to herself by screeching.

He scoffed. "Please, Granger. I don't take time out of my day to watch where you go especially; I happen to do this for all my employees when they're late. I need to know that they're not lying in their own pool of blood in a ditch somewhere."

" Thoughtful," she commented dryly. Deep down, however, she wondered how Malfoy was able to see where she was, considering the alleyway that she was in was mostly blocked from view by tall banking buildings – and besides that, she was an hour away from him, if she walked. His own eyesight couldn't possibly be that wide range.

Draco purposely ignored her comment. "Anyway, I can see you standing in an alleyway with our lattes levitating, which you should probably do something about because a group of possible-Muggles are headed your way," he said quickly; but bored, as if he couldn't really care less if she broke the Secrecy Statute. Hermione quickly put her hand underneath the two cups and broke the levitation spell wandlessly just as a group of hung-over men brushed past her, stumbling slightly on their own two feet and shielding their faces from the sunlight. "Wandless," he commented, sounding impressed. However, if she ever brought it up to him, he'd deny it with his every fibre. "I don't know where you found the time to practice." He let the sentence hang for a moment, as if letting her catch onto the fact that he was implying something. She tapped her foot impatiently. It was as if he wouldn't acknowledge that she had a life before working for him sometimes. "But, anyhow, you're late and have roughly five minutes to meet me at my office."

She began to say that she would've been there already if his phone call hadn't wasted her time, but before she could even say anything, he had already hung up. Grumbling, she put her phone away, grabbed her wand and Apparated to the outside of the building.

At the point when one of the lattes spilled down the front of her shirt after someone pushed the door that she had just Apparated outside of open and knocked her, Hermione knew that any semblance of hope that today could improve was washed away in the spilled liquid. She angrily threw the wasted cup into the bin and brushed past the woman who was the cause of the accident, and into the building where she scourgified her shirt and used a Drying Charm.

Hermione had hoped to go through this job right up until the time she was either fired or quit without Draco Malfoy discovering how pathetic she was to order the same flavoured latte as him, in the extremely unfortunate case that one spilled. However, it wasn't to say that she didn't like his taste in latte – in fact, over the years, she had grown accustomed to it and it had just become a part of her daily routine. It was just that she wished that there wasn't a reason for her to order the same as him. Nevertheless, it seemed that another habit that she had once thought stupid had proved to be useful. Even if it did meant giving up her drink for him.

Once she exited the elevator onto the correct floor, everyone who was working in their offices or walking about the hall to take care of some errands, looked over to where she was standing, latest of them all in a coffee-stained shirt, holding the only thing that could possibly bring him back from whatever bad mood he was currently in.

They looked at her as if she was their saviour. Though she didn't admit it arrogantly as some people would, she believed that at times she was their saviour. Whenever he exited his office, whether he was in a good mood or bad (there was hardly a time when the two words weren't relatively synonymous), she made sure to fire a red spark to each of those inside their own to make sure that they weren't caught not working, as she knew that many of them tended to do.

Really, Hermione was rather impressed and curious as to how the company was still running when 80% of the time his workers were doing the minimum.

She'd be lying to herself if she didn't think that he didn't notice how quickly they turned back to what they were doing every time he so much as poked his head out his door. Yet, he never said anything to her or his workers about it – be it a thank you or a request for her to stop doing whatever she was doing.

The stares continued up until the time she walked through his door. She almost spilt the last latte as he barged past her to leave his office, but he had clearly thought through his rudeness, and grabbed the cup out of her hand before shouldering her out of the way. "Walk and talk Granger, you've made me late," he said as he sipped his drink. He pulled a disgusted face as he looked over his shoulder at her. "It's warm."

"Like you've told me multiple times as if I didn't know, Mr Malfoy, I was late," she drawled. "It obviously wasn't going to still be hot by the time I got here."

He didn't have to verbally reply to her, but she knew (even though she was behind him) that he rolled his eyes or mocked her under his breath. "Look, the meeting I'm going to now is about the marketing of the spring books and I'll be stuck there until..." He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time. "Early afternoon, it looks like. Before I go in, I need to know that you've accomplished one little thing that I've asked of you and request that you do another."

They reached the elevator at the other end of the hall and he pressed the button to call it down. "Now, did you call that woman back that I asked you to do two days ago? Tell me you did Hermione Granger, your job depends on it."

The doors dinged and opened. Malfoy reached behind him and propelled Hermione forward into the elevator by his hand on her back, before following in after her, grinning at her disgruntled look. He waited silently for her to press the button to take him to his destination, without actually telling her what floor this meeting was taking place on. She huffed quietly and was about to press the button for level five, since that was where most of his meetings took place, but risked a glance at him before pushing it. He didn't even turn his head to look at her as he amusedly shook it. Hermione waited for him to say something, but when his only response to her waiting was an impatient noise, she, with thinly veiled restraint, hovered her finger over each of the levels and watched for his reaction, until she found the right one. She jabbed it angrily, it being the only thing that she could take her anger out on.

Malfoy waited for the lift to begin descending before speaking again. "Well, did you?"

For the second time that day, her fingernails bit into her hand to remind her about who she was talking to – it worked, barely. Of course, she could've answered him as they were getting into the elevator, but he had a thing about not talking until the doors were closed and they were moving. "Which one?" She asked politely.

He waved his hand about as he tried to recall whom exactly they were talking about. "You know the one. Merlin, what was her name again? The blonde one that had the big breasts and skinny legs – that one." He cupped the air in front of his chest, as if she needed to have some form of a visual representation to jog her memory. Truth be told, there had been several skinny blonde bimbos that had walked in and out of his office, requesting different things from him with the common aim of having a book published or at least their manuscript read – Hermione couldn't begin to picture which one he was on about. "If I remember correctly, you walked in on me fucking her on the desk once."

Ah, now that simple fact actually narrowed it down. The two times that she had accidentally walked in on a private moment, were with two relatively opposite girls – though, from what she had seen, she couldn't deny that there was the common factor of fairly large breasts and overall skinniness. She could remember with perfect clarity now – even if she didn't want to – the day it happened and how it happened, but most importantly the tall blonde that he was talking about. "She was French, right? I think her name was Marie."

He scoffed, seemingly ignoring her suggestion about what her name was. "Oh _please_ ," he said, taking another sip of his drink and looking over to her. This wasn't the first time where Hermione thought that the only time he used the word please – or knew how to use it – was when he was being condescending or was about to prove himself right. "She wasn't French. She was merely a resourceful witch who had heard about my interest in France and went out searching for some Charm in a book that happened to allow her to speak French. She clearly thought that it was a new and clever way to try and seduce me into getting her a publishing deal."

For someone who absolutely loved to be showered with attention, he didn't seem that impressed by the troubles the witch had seemed to go through to try to be different. Even if it was because she was attempting to manipulate him through sex.

"And how exactly did you discover this amazing ability of yours, where you can correctly discern the nationality of someone? Marie certainly sounded it – and spoke the language fluently."

" Honestly, I can't believe you fell for it, Granger. I thought you were smarter than that." He rolled his eyes dramatically as he prepared to launch into an explanation where he would outline the precise reason why he was correct about everything for the millionth time.

"Anyway, I had my suspicions from the beginning when she introduced herself to me as a French pureblood and I didn't recognise her name, because I of course, have met every fucking pureblood in France. Therefore, in the middle of throwing her on my desk I told her that she smelt like a wet Hippogriff." He smiled proudly at her, as if he was the most creative person in the world with the insult that he had conjured in his lust-crazed mind. However, she also knew that his smile was his indication that said, "This is going to get a whole lot better, Granger, so pay attention because this is the part where I knew I was spot on."

"What I can only assume would be a major turn-off to everyone, she, strangely, was only turned on more and replied with something about needing to rip my clothes off too." The doors opened then and he quickly walked out, with his long strides, and called something back to her about keeping up as she walked quicker behind him to make up for her shorter strides. "So, see? She'd say something in English and it'd come out French; she didn't even have to think about translating it. She "spoke" it but didn't understand it."

They rounded a corner of offices and it seemed that even people on this level, nine floors below him avoided him like the plague. He paid them no mind as they walked out their workplaces, only to see him, and turn around to go back inside.

"Where is your meeting?" She asked, looking around at all the occupied conference rooms and frowning. "You told me you were late."

He grinned mischievously at her and leant on the wall by, what she assumed, was the conference room where his meeting was supposed to take place. Currently, it seemed that those in there wouldn't be done for at least ten minutes more. "Yes, well, I lied. I just needed you to get here as soon as possible. You should take notes; maybe you'll finally learn when you're being deceived and how to deceive. It's been _three years_ – I thought you would've got it by now. It's all too easy." He drank some more of his beloved drink and discarded it on the floor by his feet. Although he seemed to hate it when it was anything less than boiling, he seemed to be taking a long time to drink it all. "But you called Marie, then? And told her exactly what I wanted you to?"

She took out her phone and checked her call history. "Yes. I did it yesterday and passed on your message word for word. For someone who claims to not have been seduced by her, you certainly are giving her what she wanted."

" I wasn't seduced by her," he said defensively. "Besides, someone that airheaded won't have their manuscript in by the end of this week, and so won't have their release date. And even if she does, I only promised her 5,000 starting copies. It sounds like a lot to someone like her, but you and I both know that she won't get far with as little as that. Not that anyone would want to buy a book like the one she wants put out."

" Why did you even grant her that many copies? Why did you promise her that you'd do it in the first place?"

"Because Granger - not that you could possibly know anything about the joys of getting laid - accepting her request was very rewarding for me." He smiled slyly at her discomforting imaginings of him as her face reddened from embarrassment and possible anger from the dig at her love life. He winked at her for good measure and she rolled her eyes.

It was always fun to mess with her.

"And, for the record, if I wanted you to question me on my every move, I would ask for you to bore me with every single flaw that you seem to find in all my business deals. I am successful, pet, and that's because I make good business deals."

She glared at him. It wasn't the first time that he had addressed her under the term "pet", and it had been happening a lot more often ever since he realised that he called her "Granger" too much and too often. In a workplace, the term "Mudblood" was widely not accepted, especially since the owner of the whole book publishing company was indeed a Muggle-born and the Ministry was on a crackdown to seek out anyone who still used it. However, she strongly suspected that any of Malfoy's previous prejudices had been broken down piece by piece while he was within this job, since the company supported publishing for Muggles as long as there was nothing that could break the Secrecy Statute. From when he had begun, he had been instructed to learn how to use a phone (which he had taken great pride in flashing about at every available second since she started, as if needing to say yes, look how much I have changed from Hogwarts and how intelligent I am. I have managed to learn successfully how to operate a mobile phone. Look at how I'm using _Muggle_ culture) and a computer, and was even required sometimes to speak to Muggles themselves.

In any case, calling her slave or anything along those lines wasn't entirely appropriate either, but, for some reason, pet was a fine way of addressing someone.

The people inside of the room that they were waiting outside of began to move and shuffle about in a manner that indicated that they were about to finish up whatever this particular meeting was about. He picked up his cup as those inside started to exit, and cradled it close to his chest as he waited for the last of them to come out.

"Like I said earlier, I need you to do something; and as I also said, this meeting won't be done until early afternoon. As you weren't in on time you probably don't know, since it wasn't you who informed me, but while my meeting is going on there is a staff meeting starting at 11, and I'll need you to attend it in my place," he stated. He huffed as if it was a major task as he made his way into the recently emptied room, taking a seat at the head of the table even though it wasn't his official conference. It wasn't uncommon for him to do things like this, Hermione knew, when he was the highest positioned employee in the room because no one would tell him to move. "Also, lucky for me I suppose, but the judgement on my ongoing trial is being made today so I need everything after I'm done with this to be cancelled. The trial has been happening for 5 years, I don't know how long it'll take to either clear my name or put me in Azkaban."

This was something that Hermione knew even before working for him, and so was something that she thought heavily about when applying for the part of his assistant. She almost wasn't going to accept his challenge because of it. If he was sent to Azkaban, then she would be out of a job once again and she'd have to start seeking out other places of employment that she had no interest in. This job was a whim; she was out of money at the time and bored doing nothing - this place paid nicely and was what she had some interest in. It wasn't any charity to help endangered magical creatures or a company that invented new ways to improve the lives of the Wizarding public, but what they did do was publish books.

Moreover, Malfoy had promised her when she began, as thanks for not leaving him with a useless temp, that he'd read her manuscript.

However, to her knowledge, that day had yet to happen, and she wasn't entirely prepared to be forced into leaving this job without her chance of being an author.

"Do you think it's gone well?" Hermione probed gently, trying to feel if she needed to start job searching as soon as he goes into his meeting.

He scoffed. "I work in a company that forces me into communicating with Muggles and using their technology. The boss is a Muggle-born," he said, with tired exaggeration. He pointed a finger at her suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. " _You_. I employed you, didn't I?"

She nodded once, deciding that he must've thought that his trial had been going well. After all, he did raise some good points; he had changed his lifestyle through work, so they could hardly accuse him of not evolving with the times. Other than that, he was being tried for his missions for the Death Eaters and attempted murder in the case of Albus Dumbledore. Of course, most people knew now that he was forced into doing such things and that he was underage in the beginning.

Others had been let off for less.

"Why," he said, slouching back into the high-backed chair, tapping his finger against his chin. "Do you not think I've done enough?"

There was a pause as Hermione thought about Draco's court case, in relation to what other things he had been accused of and what information they had in his defence. Draco called her out of her musings and gave her a hard look when he eyes focused back onto him.

"So, do you think I've done enough? Don't beat around the bush, Granger; I hired you because you're the only one who'd gladly tell me what I've done wrong, even when I don't want to hear it and it isn't necessary. Go on."

"Maybe there was more you could've done," she shrugged. "Anyone can fake that they're okay or enjoying their line of work. _Anyone_ could have found a job that corresponds with Muggles."

Draco made a noise that sounded akin to a growl and dismissed her from the conference room. As she left, he called after her, saying, "Sometimes I wish I never hired you, Granger."


	2. Trial Excuses and Assistant Uses

CHAPTER 2: TRIAL EXCUSES AND ASSISTANT USES

Draco fixed his tie and patted down his suit, smoothing away any creases that may have formed on it. He pushed open the doors to the auditorium and walked in, taking a seat at the same place, as he had done every time he was called back to the court for the past 5 years. The same two guards that had flanked him for the past 5 years weren't there today; instead, they had been replaced by two older, burlier Aurors, who had their hands resting by their wands, ready for any sign of attack.

As Draco looked around, in fact, the only thing that seemed to have remained the same to this very day was the chair he was sitting on and the Wizengamot member that had been put in charge of his trial.

It didn't seem to Draco that this meant he was getting off on a clean slate. They probably brought in other witnesses and Aurors in case he had paid them off in order to escape a cell in Azkaban. However, if they were so cautious about that, Draco couldn't understand why they hadn't changed the judge. Unless they knew that his mind was already set on sending him away, or they bribed him to listen to the voices of the jury and go with the majority rather than his own mindset.

Draco couldn't believe that he didn't think of doing something like that himself.

"Mr Malfoy," his judge, Lord Jaxon Stewart, head of all the trials against the Death Eaters since they began gathering them in, started. So far, from what Draco had been reading up on, Jaxon had been fairly lenient with those accused; if he was sentenced, then it was mostly likely because of who he was. "At the beginning of this trial 5 years ago, you pleaded not guilty to the crimes that you are being charged against. Do you change your-"

"I am _not_ guilty," Draco blurted, wanting the trial to be over and done with. If he was going home, he wanted to go home. If he was going to Azkaban, he wanted to be cast in irons already.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true.

"My apologies, Lord Stewart," he added after he saw that someone in the jury was about to scold him for his impoliteness.

Stewart decided not to respond and instead began to familiarise the court with his charges. As the list was being read, Draco thought about how he could save himself from the cold prison cells. He had a job to do, back in Wizarding London, and in a few years time The Boss would be retiring and would need to hand the reigns of Dragonhide Publishers over to someone trustworthy - someone who knew how the company worked, someone who has been employed for a reasonable amount of time. Unfortunately, that couldn't be him if he was locked away.

What most of his crimes had in common were prejudices against Muggle-borns, _so clearly_ , he thought, _if what Granger said to me is true, and that my job really doesn't serve to help me, then I need to find something that will._

Draco's thoughts lapsed into silence as he reflected back onto every article that he had read over the years, thinking about all the reasons he'd heard other Death Eaters were let off – or at least, the reasons that had allowed for a hearing and a further postponement on the trial.

_Ah_ , he thought suddenly, sinking back into his chair in relief and covering his smirk as best as he could with his hand. _That should work nicely._

Jaxon Stewart cleared his throat and shuffled some papers, throwing Draco back into reality. "Now, I believe that everyone here has seen the records and evidence both in defence and against the accused?" There was a murmur of assent as Draco heard more papers being shuffled and people shifting in their seats, knowing that the trial was just about to wrap things up. "Brilliant. Mr Malfoy, are there any final words you wish to say on the matter before you are sentenced?"

Draco remained silent and shook his head firmly. Now was not the time to throw in his defence; he didn't even know what the outcome was yet.

"I now ask the members of the Wizengamot today to decide the fate of Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy, aged 26 and Chief Editor at Dragonhide Publishers in London. All those in favour of sending Mr Malfoy to Azkaban prison for the next 6 years, raise your hands."

Draco looked around, a light in his eye and his teeth gritted in determination. His predicted outcome was becoming fact. He sat up straighter, going over the final details in his mind about how he was going to sway the Wizengamot and convince them that he deserved a second chance. 5 years of trials couldn't have gone to waste so quickly.

Lord Stewart smacked the gavel onto his desk, the sound resounding throughout the room. "Then it is settled," he said. Behind him, Draco could feel the Aurors striding towards his seat, ready to restrain him and throw him into one of the carriages heading to Azkaban. He tried not to shift in his seat or give away any idea that he was worried, any movement that could give them indication that he was lying. "Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will be escorted to Azkaban prison by a team of Aurors tonight, which will signify the start of your 6 year sentence for crimes against Muggle-borns and aid to Lord Voldemort during the War. If there is any form of resistance during your journey, the Aurors are authorised to use force. During your time in Azkaban, you will be allowed to have visitors, however if there is any bad behaviour reported, then that privilege will be revoked. Only reports of good behaviour and the mutual agreement of the Wizengamot will be able to reduce your sentence. Mr Malfoy, do you understand your charges?"

Draco nodded, remaining impassive. He needed to wait until they asked if he agreed with the charges and then ask why he had any disagreements to them. If he delivered it convincingly enough, then they would have to make inquires and push back his transportation to prison.

"Then this trial is officially finished." With another smack of the gavel, the Aurors hands were suddenly on Draco's shoulders and pulling him out of his chair and restraining his arms as he jerked, panicking, in their grip. Everyone was leaving, and he hadn't had a chance to save himself. _They were supposed to ask if I agreed!_

" _No_! Wait!" Draco suddenly shouted, surprising himself with how much anxiety was in his voice. He cleared his throat as Lord Stewart tiredly called for Aurors, and the members of the court, to stop.

"The trial has ended, Mr Malfoy. You denied the opportunity for last words," Lord Stewart said firmly, dismissively. The Aurors were once again dragging him to his temporary home with increasing force every time he jerked.

With all his wiggling, he managed to break free for precious seconds and called to them that they'd all be in a lot of trouble with the Minister - maybe before he even arrived at Azkaban - if they ignored his plea.

That caught the attention of the witnesses - and the ever-important Jaxon.

The Aurors seized him by the shoulders and were about to drag him once more, but the lord held up a hand and they stopped. One hand remained on each of his shoulders, however, like a warning. Or a reminder. Draco wasn't sure which one he preferred.

"I disagree with the charges," he said loudly, looking at each person individually. " _I am not guilty_! I was forced into the Death Eaters through threats to my life and my family, and in the same period of time was - once again - _forced_ into killing Albus Dumbledore and creating a gateway for Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts – all while underage. As Malfoy Manor was used as headquarters, I'm sure it wouldn't be necessary to impart the knowledge of how impossible it would've been even to consider escaping."

None of them seemed impressed by his speech, but at least they were all listening. He knew that he needed to say something important in order to catch their attention, or his fate wouldn't be changed. It had been 8 years since the War ended - all of what he was saying now was common knowledge; everyone had found out eventually.

"As for my behaviour against Muggle-borns: if working at Dragonhide Publishers isn't enough to show the jury that I am capable of working with Muggles, Muggle-borns – or half-bloods, then I urge you to look at the evidence of my relationship with Hermione Granger."

He internally smiled in triumph as he felt the room's atmosphere change and registered the looks of curiosity on their faces. _Good_. He was winning slowly.

"In all the defences you have called forward, Mr Malfoy, none of them have even been related towards Miss Granger, other than your employment of her as your assistant," one member said. Her lips were pursed as she looked down on him, and her face said it all: she did not believe him for one minute. "Why bring up any form of relationship up with her now? There is no evidence of it. Why should your relationship with Miss Granger change your sentence?"

"Isn't it obvious why my sentence should change? Hermione Granger is one of the most renowned Muggle-borns. This, as I've been trying to prove since the beginning, shows that I am not prejudiced any longer. My relationship with her has only been used as a part of my defence now because Hermione has only recently accepted my advances. We were not in any form of relationship since the last trial, over a year ago. There had been no need then, my interest in her since her hiring was my business alone. As for the lack of evidence, we'd rather not have trash written about our lives and relationship. We're being secretive."

"How convenient," Lord Jaxon said, taking a seat once again at his court desk, the others following suit. "How convenient, indeed, Mr Malfoy. However, we have a report against your case from Miss Marie Thomson that states that you would not give her a publishing deal, being a Muggle-born, unless she engaged in sexual activity with you. This report was filed at the beginning of last month - and, Mr Malfoy, this hasn't been the first of such claims to be made. If such claims are proven to be true, it strengthens accusations towards your Muggle and Muggle-born prejudices; and as such, it will highlight either your infidelity to Miss Granger or add another crime to your records for lying in court. Do you have anything to say against this?"

"Such claims are false," he said through gritted teeth. He hated that Granger was right about his past lovers coming back to ruin him after being used. She had long since suspected that none of them was as airheaded as they put across. Draco didn't care much, in any case; it only meant that he had to build up his already constructed lie. "I have been completely loyal to my girlfriend, since it began. I wouldn't be anything but loyal to the woman carrying my child."

_Fuck,_ Draco thought as soon as the words left his mouth. _How am I supposed to have her agree to being pregnant? Dating was one thing, but_ this...

"Oh ho, so she's with child now, is she?" Draco heard someone within the court call out. He looked around for the speaker, but was unable to spot them since he had set off several others to call him a liar.

His nails bit into his palms. He was truly fucked if no one believed him, yet he couldn't help but blame himself for not thinking about what he was going to say. _She was "pregnant"._ Pregnant _. Bloody hell, Draco, you could've chosen something relatively believable._

The judge called for silence.

Jaxon Stewart leaned forward on his desk and looked at Draco unflinchingly. Draco stared right back. "If Miss Granger is indeed with child – your child and heir, then Malfoy Manor rightfully belongs to you. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have long since passed away and your childhood home has been left abandoned. There is no doubt in my mind that you know that Malfoy Manor is now yours, yet you don't live there. In fact, you and your supposed have separate apartments in opposite sides of London."

"Not to mention it'll be the first Malfoy _bastard_!" Another male voice called out.

"Bastard-born, yes," Jaxon said contemplatively. "What happened to your Malfoy honour? Is there not enough for you to make an honest woman of Miss Granger? Perhaps because you don't want a half-blood heir - or is it because marrying a Muggle-born would be considered disgraceful in itself?"

_That,_ Draco thought bitterly, _that is what I should've told them. That we were engaged._ He cleared his throat. _What was another lie on top of all this? Fuck it._ "I was actually planning on proposing to her at a later date, when we've settled things more, _before_ the baby is born. She's only a few weeks along - she only took the test last week - so I have plenty of time to propose. We're visiting her family this weekend to tell them the good news. I wouldn't disgrace my family with not having the common decency to marry the woman carrying my child – whatever its blood status." He wet his lips. "As for the Manor, we haven't had time to discuss it yet. You all know very well that she was tortured in one of the rooms by my aunt. She's still traumatised."

He blinked slowly and let out a breath he'd been holding in. He allowed a small feeling of satisfaction to swell within him. He'd managed to navigate that shipwreck relatively well.

_And Hermione had thought that I'd been ignoring her requests for time off to go visit her Muggle family, or her mutterings of encouragement about having a break when she was stressed._ Draco scoffed internally. It was the perfect alibi.

"What sort of things need to be settled? Having her agree to this blatant lie, perhaps? I can scarcely imagine that Hermione Granger would freely agree to everything you've said," a young woman of the Wizengamot said.

Jaxon shot her a look that said to ask no further questions.

"I deny these accusations, whatever they imply," he said through gritted teeth. _The fucker was right._ He wanted to scream. "The fact of the matter is that Hermione Granger _is_ pregnant with my child."

"Yet there is no proof of it, is there Mr Malfoy?" Jaxon asked tiredly. "It's all so _terribly_ convenient. We take your word for it – she's pregnant – we _have_ to declare you not guilty by rights of the Law of Supporting Families. We deny your evidence – she's _not_ pregnant – then there's the possibility that you are perhaps telling the truth, and we've broken one of our own laws and there's a public outrage. So how do we avoid that? We investigate your claim. However, that means we have to give Miss Granger – or the _future Mrs Malfoy-_ " There were scoffs and snorts of laughter across the auditorium. "At least a month's preparation time and we postpone your trial further, which means you both – however unlikely it is – have adequate time to scheme against us and keep you out of Azkaban for good."

Draco gulped. He could feel sweat gathering on his forehead. Maybe he hadn't navigated the shipwreck well enough. "Lord Stewart-" Draco tried once more.

"Enough!" Lord Stewart yelled, smacking his gavel once more and shocking Draco into silence. "Roxton, Hugo, release Mr Malfoy." The Aurors took their commands and stepped away from Draco. "I have no doubt in my mind, Mr Malfoy that you've manipulated this entire court into setting you free – but I won't be so careless. Nevertheless, yes, because of your claims that Miss Granger is with child, we are prohibited to send you to Azkaban before the child is of the age to start a Wizarding school. An inquiry shall be sent out to gather information pertaining to your claims, and we ask, as soon as you return from your trip, that you and Miss Granger meet with Miss Rose Armstrong, Head Inquisitor, to answer questions about your relationship. If your relationship proves to be false, you will be convicted of lying to the court and another _three_ years shall be added to your original sentence. No chances will be taken in the case of conspiring together; therefore, both your memories will be examined separately.

However, in the miraculous circumstance that this relationship proves to be true, you and your family will be left alone until the time your child is 11 years of age. Once that time has come, your case will be looked through once more."

He began to feel the swell of triumph. _It had_ worked. Now all Draco had to do was begin to build up the lies he'd constructed, with the help of Granger, and create his own defence case. First, he had to inform his assistant of all that had happened and persuade her into helping him, and then convince her to allow him to accompany her on her visit to her parents.

_It wouldn't be hard,_ he thought. Draco already knew what his leverage would be – it wasn't that hard to manipulate someone when they were so obvious and single-minded, despite how clever she was. Hermione Granger was still the same girl he had gone to school with.

He'd deal with the pregnancy claims later. Everything needed to be done in precise steps.

Draco picked himself up proudly and began walking out of the hall as soon as Jaxon said that he was free to leave, seconds before the gavel struck again.

* * *

After collecting the stack of work Draco had left out for her on his desk, Hermione was relieved to retire back to her apartment. The staff meeting that he had made her sit through was a complete bore and hardly anything was discussed, much to her dismay. Malfoy could've missed it completely without sending in her as his representative, and he'd still know the workings of the company.

She only hoped that his trial had been more successful. As of yet, she had received no notice from the Ministry that her boss was convicted of being a criminal, and no such word from the man himself.

She took the stairs to her apartment today, not completely exhausted from running after Draco the entire day. As she approached her door however, she felt that some of the wards that she had put up had been shifted. No one was ever usually in her apartment without her to allow them entrance.

Grabbing her wand, which was still tucked into the back of her skirt, she slowly opened the door.

When she saw who was inside she sighed. "Honestly, can't you ever tell me when you're going to show up at my home? I would like some warning," Hermione said, setting her keys and the stack of papers down on the coffee table. Her eyes quickly searched the living room and kitchen in front of her, finding nothing out of place. Her eyebrows furrowed. The wards recognised the two of them, there would've been no need for them to take them down.

"Surprise!" Ron yelled happily around a mouthful of leftover curry as he walked out of the kitchen to settle on the sofas.

"Oh come on, 'Mione. We wanted to surprise you and take you out for a celebratory dinner," Harry said as Hermione picked up a roll of tissues and threw it at Ron to clear up his mess. "You've been working for that bastard for three years now. Merlin knows how you've lasted that long."

"I get a good pay check out of it," Hermione said, smiling.

"So you're coming out this time, right?" Harry asked hopefully. He stood up and brushed his slacks, Ron following suit, thinking they already knew her answer.

"Of course, we haven't been out together in ages. I would love to but..." Her smile faded and she gestured toward the papers in front of them. "I can't. I've got all of _this_ to do for tomorrow."

"That's fine," Harry said tightly, and for a moment, Hermione thought she would be lucky enough to be let off without any disagreements. He eyed the large stack wearily. "You can do it when we get back."

Hermione snorted without humour. "That'd be a well-needed miracle after the day I've had. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

They fixed her with their most disappointed looks. Hermione both felt guilty and angry.

"You need a break, Hermione. He's working you too hard," Ron argued. "You can't just do all his work for him!"

"He's very busy-" Hermione tried to argue. Which was true; he was busy not attending staff meetings, busy with women, busy with his trial and busy making her slave after him.

"Ron's right. You've got to quit - or, at least, threaten to," Harry urged. "Ask for time off, less paperwork! If you're really that important to the git, he'll do it."

All the while, Ron was eagerly nodding his head. "He's right, 'Mione. If you were doing all this work for me in the Auror department, I'd never let you go. I'd give you anything you want."

Hermione shook her head. This was her job, no matter how hard she had to work or how little time she had to herself. She wasn't about to go begging to Malfoy, and she certainly wasn't about to risk losing her job. Despite any changes to Malfoy's character she might have told them about, she knew what he would do and say to her before she even considered making demands. He'd laugh in her face, make some smug remark and fire her to further prove his point that she was a familiar face - but not necessary. If the boys thought he would do anything less, then they had obviously all but forgotten how he behaved when they were at Hogwarts.

She had made a promise to herself, and even if she worked herself to death, she would be dammed if he cracked her. "Not tonight," she said one final time.

"You're not his slave," Ron tried one more time as they left the apartment.

"I know," Hermione replied. She closed the door behind them, and groaned; she didn't want to be stuck indoors again, going through files.

_Damn Malfoy_ , she thought. _Damn him to Hell. Damn him, damn him, damn him..._

"My, my Granger," a drawling voice came from behind her. Hermione gasped and spun around, recognising the voice immediately. She glared at her next intruder, her hand itching to find her wand and give him a well-deserved hex out of their workplace, which had a strict ban on offensive spells.

There, looking as impeccable in his suit as always, was a smirking, and highly amused, Draco Malfoy. He was idly leaning against the wall next to the staircase, a glass of red wine hanging loosely in his hands. If the glass and wine belonged to her, she wouldn't be surprised. "Your friends are stupider than I thought if they think I'd ever accept to be blackmailed like that."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked harshly, blinking in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed as she jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction. " _You_ took my wards down."

"Well of course I did. I doubt those two idiots would be able take down those sort of wards. And anyway," he added with some note of disappointment, "it seems they knew where you hid your key."

"Malfoy," she said. "What are you doing here?" She folded her arms and leaned against the door.

He grinned over the rim of his glass and took a slow sip of the wine. She rolled her eyes. "Me and you, Granger; we've got some things to discuss," he said, licking his reddened lips. "I want you to go into your bedroom right now and put the outfit on. I don't want to hear any disagreements tonight, pet."

Hermione sucked in a breath, her cheeks red, and prepared to tell him that he didn't control what she did, especially outside of work. Draco immediately tutted and shook his head, repeating that he was in no mood to quarrel over this. "But I didn't even say anything," Hermione spluttered. It was as if he knew. It was as if he always knew.

"Bloody hell, Granger; just go do it. It's not some kind of lingerie, I promise you that." He grinned wider as her blush deepened and he knew that he was right about her thoughts. "Tonight, we dine. I've got one hell of a story to tell you, that you'll be interested to hear."

Hermione immediately knew that this had something to do with his trial, and she wasn't sure whether the story he was planning to tell was a good one or a bad one. Since her hiring, they had never once eaten together or been seen together outside of work. There had never been a time where Draco had called her upon her for something quite like this and she was curious, yet weary, of his reasons.

"Depends," she said warily, eyeing him up and down. "How did your trial go? Will I be dining with a criminal?"

"Not yet, my lovely," he said quickly, taking another gulp of wine. "Not yet and not quite. That's something that needs to be...discussed." She still looked wary and unconvinced, and Draco was beginning to get irritated. He needed this to work. Needed it; he didn't want to go there. He didn't deserve it.

"Oh come on, Granger. If I was a criminal, do you think I'd be so stupid as to go out in public? Don't you think I'd be in Azkaban by now? Give some credit where it's due, pet," he said.

"That's true," she allowed, grudgingly. _So his trial had gone well then_ , she thought happily. She wasn't going to have to find a new boss. She sighed tiredly and folded her arms. "But I don't know."

"You can have anything from the menu," he said exasperated. He downed the rest of his wine. "I'll pay for it all."

It sounded nice, she conceded, and Draco paying for whatever she wanted only sweetened the pot. She was saving for a new place to live, so even if she had no work to do, she wasn't sure how willing she would've been to spend money when out with Harry and Ron.

_Still_ , she thought, her eyes drifting to the stack of papers again. _It could be one of his attempts to make me late again._

Draco tiredly followed her eye, paranoid that he was going to be late to his reservations. "Oh that," he said dismissively. He waved it off, uncaring. "Don't worry about that, pet. I'll have someone else take care of that. Consider it thanks for being my assistant for three years. Happy now? Time is of the essence."

Hermione allowed herself a small, satisfactory smile as she walked past him and up the stairs. She tried not to walk faster as she passed him, his calculating eyes trailing over her body.

She only hoped that Harry and Ron didn't hear about this. They would feel betrayed.

Draco smirked as soon as she was no longer looking at her. Oh how he loved uncovering people's desires for his own benefit.

He refilled his glass while he waited for her to be ready. He drank his congratulatory wine slowly; oh, he had all the time in the world.

* * *

"Wine for the lady?" Draco heard the waitress ask Hermione as she was filling his glass.

He wasn't paying much attention to what else was going on around the restaurant, or what his date in front of him was doing. However, he managed to wave the waitress off and send her away for some water before Hermione was able to accept.

She was infuriated, to say the least. "Last time I checked, I was allowed to have a glass of wine, if I wanted," she sneered as she perused her menu.

"You need a clear head, lovely. We have important matters to discuss, remember?" He murmured, not looking up from his own menu.

" _Oh yes_ , like the verdict of your trial," she fired back. "Anyway, what about you? Don't _you_ need a clear head to relay your deal to me?"

Draco blinked and looked up from his menu. Slowly, he grinned. "Oh, so you've worked it out then? It took longer than I expected from you, I must admit. I like to think I hired you for your quick wit, but perhaps not..." He said aloofly. Smugly, he took a sip from his own glass. "All the more reason for you to stay away from the wine, then."

Hermione gritted her teeth. She set down her menu and tried to keep her voice down so as not to cause a scene. "Well, I thought that this is all clearly too much for a discussion," she retorted. "And don't you think you've had enough wine? You finished a whole bottle of Merlin's Finest before we even left the apartment."

He laughed quietly. "I can hold my liquor, Granger," he said. "But yes, you are right. This is a deal of sorts." He raised an eyebrow. "Anything else you've observed?"

Hermione decided that if she didn't lay all her cards on the table now, she'd only end up being tricked by him later, after hours of tiptoeing around the real problem. She'd seen him do this to clients thousands of times. "This is a deal about your trial, obviously. I don't know why or what you want from me – I know you'll tell me sooner or later tonight – but this has stemmed from your trial."

He hummed, looking impressed as he picked up his glass once more. He looked to his left discreetly, Hermione following suit, and said in a husky voice as the waitress returned with Hermione's water, "I like the way you think, darling."

Hermione only rolled her eyes and scoffed as she accepted the proffered drink. As she sipped the water, still furious with Draco for forbidding her from having _any_ alcoholic drink, her stomach dropped. She clutched the glass tightly. Hermione raised her eyes to look at him and nervously wet her lips.

Draco, still acting as someone out on a date (which, much to Hermione's ire, he had strongly recommended she do – she had thought it was stupid and pointless at the time), relayed their orders to the waitress and patiently waited for her to leave.

Hermione impatiently waited for the waitress to leave. When she finally did, she said lowly, " _I know what you did_." It was hard to keep her voice quiet, but the amount of fury within it immediately gained his attention, which had previously been stuck on another waitress nearby.

Draco blinked. The smile dropped off his face and he blinked again. " _What?"_ He said, paling. He had thought he'd had the upper hand in this, knowing more than she did and being able to twist it however he needed to or wanted. He held his own glass so tightly he was afraid that it'd break.

"I _know_ what you did. At your trial." He had never seen her so _angry_. There wasn't anything even remotely scary about Granger, in those three years that she had worked for him – and even before that when they were at school – apart from her ire. She vaguely resembled a Fury herself when she was angry, and Draco would've looked into her heritage a bit more in the off chance that she was distantly related to one but he knew – as everyone in the world did – that she was Muggle-born with no magical descendants.

He picked up his glass again and swirled the liquid around in the glass contemplatively, as if it was a particularly interesting distraction.

"I was right this morning back at the office; it _wasn't_ enough. And you... _you_ had run out of evidence, clearly, to keep you out of Azkaban so you decided to introduce _me._ "

"Now, now, Granger," he said uneasily. He looked around at the people dining around him in case they heard anything. He knew the paparazzi were usually around this place (which was why he had specially brought Hermione a new dress to wear out), and that they would be circling him since it was publicly known that today was the end of his trial, but he'd be dammed if he failed in his mission before he even started. "Why don't we skip this dinner, go back to my place and discuss this like – business partners?"

"What. Did. You. _Do_ ," she pressed though gritted teeth. "Did you say that we were dating, is that it? It is, isn't it? _That's_ why you brought us to this fancy place, and told me to behave as a couple would, and was going to pay for the whole thing."

A pause then, "Yes."

_There's more._ She fidgeted. _How much worse could this get?_ "What _else_ did you tell them?"

"Look, Hermione-"

" _What else?_ Explain, Malfoy. Now."

He leaned forward on the table, careful about knocking anything and attracting attention towards them. His whole mission was over. "I thought by telling them that you were my girlfriend would be enough to change the jury's minds _but_...you were also right about my lovers coming back to ruin me. And whatever you have to say about this will probably also be right," he whispered irately.

She didn't say anything, but she gave him a look as if to " _say_ _get to the point"._

He huffed. "You won't say anything more until I tell you out rightly? _Fine_." He set his glass down on the table, and casually reclined back in his seat. Draco caught her eye."I told them you were pregnant,"he said without preamble. "It was the only way."

Her hand flew to her mouth as she breathed in sharply and blinked in surprised. Her anger flared even more. "Do I _look_ pregnant to you? What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

That was the first time that Draco had ever heard her swear. That's how he knew it was bad. "I was _thinking_ that I did not – _do not –_ deserve to go to Azkaban. Look, I just – I need you to help me, Hermione. I made these claims in court – in front of a jury, a judge, and witnesses – and so they have to investigate them, and therefore have postponed my trial. If they discover that I was _lying-"_

It was the first time she had ever heard Draco call her by her first name, but that wasn't about to change anything. "You should have thought of that before you lied _in court._ How could you think that I would _ever_ agree to help you commit crimes? This is illegal, Malfoy!"

He said, "Everything is legal, my dear, as long as you don't get caught." His eyes were suddenly glittering with excitement. "You're clever, Granger. We both are, let's face it. The question is: do you really think that we have a large chance of being caught?"

Did she? It wasn't a hard question. Hermione looked around. Her eyes came back to rest on him, looking at her appraisingly and waiting for his answer. He was always waiting for an answer; not just any answer, but one that he wanted, needed.

"No," she said grudgingly. "But I don't want any part of your schemes. Whatever it is that you're planning to do – it's not going to work."

"Oh, isn't it?" He said. Hermione had heard this tone of voice before quite often when it came to tricky customers; she liked to call it The Man With A Dream. She promised herself that she wasn't going to be convinced by it. "Think about it, Hermione. We have an entire month from today to plan what we could do when we have to meet the Head Inquisitor to solidify my claims. _A month._ An entire month to do public things, like more dinners or going on days out shopping – or whatever. As long as we're together and we _look_ like a couple. _"_

"Malfoy, in a month I could possibly be showing my supposed pregnancy. Have you thought about that?"

He shifted in his seat now, and looked vaguely uncomfortable. Whatever he was going to say, Hermione could tell that he had both thought about it and didn't really want to have considered it as an option. "We could...I mean," he started uneasily. "The pregnancy - pregnancies don't always last. Something could...happen."

"Are you suggesting that within this month, I - why would I even want to abort "our" baby, anyway? Have you seriously thought any of this through? Can you hear yourself? There would be no way; we would have ever been able to do this with your plans."

"I'm not saying abortion, stupid. You're right - if you did that, you would have no motive to have aborted it. No, I meant..." He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "You _could_ have a miscarriage."

"I'm still not agreeing to this Malfoy, it's only going to crash and burn. Quickly." She turned it over in her mind. "The miscarriage? That's mighty convenient, much like our sudden relationship. And how long after we announced it, am I going to have it? Will I be taken to St Mungos? That'll be one way to guarantee publicity. But..."

"You're not actually pregnant," Draco finished glumly. "So there's no way to publicly stage it. Unless, we make a statement."

"Exactly. Nevertheless, the Head Inquisitor - how is she going to prove the reliability of your claims?"

"Occlumency, I would think," he said. He sighed. "But we'd have no memories to prove it. Though, I was also given a pack of questions about each other, that we'd need to learn.

"You're catching on fast," she said sarcastically. "So you see, even if this wasn't illegal, I wouldn't sign my name to this plan."

Draco suddenly got a new light in his eyes. "Yet...during the month that we have...I'm not saying you have to have sex with me personally, Hermione, but what if we used Polyjuice? It can be anyone of your choice, obviously - and you can be drunk, if you need to be. And... I'll do the same."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Do you know how long it takes to brew Polyjuice? Your whole precious month! And do you really believe that we'd be able to drug someone with Polyjuice without any Ministry officials knowing? Or the people themselves knowing? Everyone knows about Polyjuice."

"Ah, but Granger, what if I said that I have several vials of it at home, ready to use? And here's the trick of the century, doll: we use Muggles. They won't have a clue."

"Oh? And where are you going to find a large choice of Muggles, away from the Ministry's eye, to drug, huh?"

Shockingly – or she supposed, not so shockingly after everything she had heard that evening – he looked sheepish. "I'm coming with you to visit your family."

" _What?"_ She asked deathly quiet. Draco would have preferred her to shriek at him instead.

"You think I want this? That I would _willingly_ want to go on holiday with you to meet your family?" He retorted snidely. "No. I'm doing this so that I don't have to go on a long-term holiday to _Azkaban,_ if you've forgotten already."

"I thought we clarified that I want no part in this crime! You are _not_ coming with me!"

"If you don't want to help me get away with this "crime", then why are we still discussing all the plot-holes?" He growled.

She scowled and opened her mouth to reply, but he quickly cut her off.

"I'll fucking tell you why, Granger. Because you know that if you don't _you'll_ no longer have an employer. Which means that you'll have to find a _new_ job that you can _progress_ in; one that you both _like_ and _want_. Well guess-fucking-what, pet? We wouldn't be here right now if you had found one that ticked all those boxes three years ago, now would we? And chances are you still can't, otherwise you would have left my employment by now. Moreover, if this has been about the money the entire time, you also know that should I be taken in, your pay check for this month will cease existing."

He took in a deep breath and looked challengingly in her hazel eyes, knowing that he already had her. He had had her from the moment she realised that he had been convicted, no matter what she said. _Fear over illegality?_ Draco scoffed. Her whole life at Hogwarts had been based on illegality.

"So here's what's going to happen: you are going to explicitly tell me that you are agreeing to this – no more "law abider" bullshit. Then, we are going to discuss this further over the rest of the evening, before going back to my own apartment. You can Apparate back to your own home later, to pack your suitcase or whatever, but then you _will_ come back to mine so we can be seen leaving together. While at your family's place, we will act the part of an in-love couple, and we _will_ tell them that you are pregnant. We _will_ give Muggles Polyjuice potion, and create some more...heated memories. After...however long you're planning to stay there for, we will start making our public appearances in Wizarding London. Sometime during all that – I don't know when exactly – we'll work out how to get around the pregnancy problem, don't you worry. Now, I haven't forgotten about the money. The day before my trial, I will give you 6 months worth of pay – in person – whether I am imprisoned or I am not. It'll be yours."

"Is that it?" She asked dryly, but they both knew what she was ultimately going to say.

"Well, there are some other technicalities such as moving into the Manor together – though, that doesn't actually have to happen. And then, after the trial, you can end it whenever you want – but not straight away," he commented lightly in return. "But yes, that is it. Are you ready to agree now?"

"What happens...What happens if you win this trial, however unlikely it is?"

He slowly reached for his glass of wine and swirled it around. "You want something more," he stated. "You want a reward for your help."

She nodded once. "For my troubles," she corrected.

"Name it." He paused and thought for a moment. "Is it your manuscript published, is that it?"

"You promised that when you hired me," Hermione pointed out, but Draco had already sensed that this was going to be it and he couldn't say that it was a bad choice.

"Ah," he said, wagging his finger at her. "But I didn't need to then; you were already in my grasp." He paused and pretended to mull the request over, as if Hermione hadn't seen him do that before. "So, you just want it published, yes? Is that it?"

"200,000 starting copies, like you promised."

"Of course. Done?"

"I also want you to organise for it to be advertised, as well as you do when it's one of your...more personal clients."

"I'll do it even better; you will be my girlfriend, after all." He grinned widely. "So, deal? That's it then, right?"

"Yes," Hermione said slowly. She tried to remember if there was anything else that she needed before the window closed. "I'll...help you in this, just this once. I'm not going to help you commit any more crimes in the future."

"Excellent!" He lifted his glass up for a toast, and Hermione grudgingly did the same. "To our future, darling, whatever may come out of it." Their glasses clinked and they took sips of their respective drinks. Suddenly feeling extraordinarily happy over what had happened, Draco held out his glass of wine to Hermione and let her drain what was left. "You may be pregnant, but I suppose a little alcohol won't do much harm. This is a _celebration_!"

She smiled slightly around the rim of the glass. The wine warmed her stomach and it felt much more like a celebration than it had. Hermione hummed her agreement.

"Did I tell you that you can keep the dress, by the way? You look absolutely ravishing in it, pet," he said, taking the empty glass away from her and trailing his eyes over her body, admiring his work. "I made a fantastic choice with it. Gryffindor red."


	3. Relationship Tales and Confrontational (Fe)Males

CHAPTER 3: RELATIONSHIP TALES AND CONFRONTATIONAL (FE)MALES

"Sorry," Draco muttered, as he accidentally rocked into Hermione for the fifth time.

"If you're not careful, you're going to knock me to the floor, and the miscarriage will be earlier than planned," she hissed back at him. A smile was still evident on her face, as they continued to keep up their pretence.

"Of course," he replied with a roll of his eyes. "If you had listened to me, however, and we had _driven_ to Oxford, then we wouldn't have this threat."

"If we had _driven_ to Oxford, you wouldn't have been seen _using_ Muggle transport with the mother of your son," she said smartly.

"Or daughter," he quipped. "It could be a girl. Who really knows?"

Only they did, of course – that is, if they could agree on something as unimportant as the sex of their non-existent baby.

Which seemed unlikely.

Hermione knew that Draco didn't even have his driver's license, having failed it several times and eventually giving up on retaking it – and she was fairly sure that he _knew_ that she wasn't so stupid as to believe him – but he still liked to pretend that he passed it on his final try.

She turned over a page of the file that was resting on her lap. " _And_ ," she said, keeping their conversation on track, "we need you to actually win your trial this time, don't we?"

Draco saw the couple sat opposite eyeing them suspiciously, so he did the same. Perhaps they were eavesdropping. He had to do something to deflect their concern - who knew who Jaxon had spying on them. "That's why you're my personal assistant," he said lightly. "I couldn't think of anyone better to do everything for me."

Draco regretted saying that as soon as the words left his mouth; he saw the couple give them a strange look, before ignoring them. He supposed that was better than nothing, but it wasn't exactly something a normal couple would say to each other.

"Mhm," she mumbled uninterestedly. She looked up, eyes searching the train briefly, before looking back down at the file in her lap. "If you didn't want everyone giving you funny looks, you should've listened to _me_ when I said not to bring your bloody eagle owl on the train," she commented. "While I have never seen him in action, I have good faith that Herc could've made it to Oxford himself. _Or_ , you could've left him at home for two weeks. This is _supposed_ to be a holiday of sorts. It's almost Christmas."

"Merlin woman, how many times do I have to tell you?" He said beseechingly. "He will _not_ have a nickname! His name is Hercules. That's it." He folded his arms moodily, accidentally elbowing Hermione in the process. "Besides, I have important business messages to answer. Two weeks?" He scoffed dramatically and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I should be so lucky to be left alone for two weeks."

She decided not to make a retort about his business deals. "Oh? And I suppose you won't shorten your own child's name either?"

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "I hate them."

She tilted her head to the side and considered him. "Everyone calls you by your nickname," she said. He gave her an inquiring look. "Draconis, right? _"_

He scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. "Nicknames don't count if they're given to you by your family or _you_ tell others to call you... _whatever."_

"What was it for you?"

"Both, I suppose." He seemed to become distracted and paused for a few moments. "It still doesn't mean that I like them. I _won't_ give my child a nickname."

Hermione looked up at him appraisingly. "Good to know," she said quietly. "It means that you won't give me one." The corner of her mouth twitched up slightly, as if she was holding back from smiling. "I don't particularly like them either."

"Brilliant," he said sarcastically. "Are you done reading over the fine print now? You've been pouring over it all night. It's time you start paying attention to your husband."

A harsh laugh escaped her lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself now, Malfoy," she said. "Anyway, yes, I've read it, and we've got," she glanced to her watch, "another hour and a half, roughly - so let's start these questions. They seem relatively easy; I know quite a few already..."

"Alright then, Granger. Fire away," he said. "I'm ready."

She looked at him dubiously. Hermione greatly doubted that he had really learned or could recall anything about her in the past three years they'd worked together. "Okay. We'll start off easy." She browsed the list in front of her. "When is my birthday?"

He spent a few moments thinking about the question, before giving up and becoming frustrated. "And how the _fuck_ do you expect me to know that anyway? You said we're starting off easy."

"Because I'm supposed to be your bloody girlfriend!" She hissed in return. "Merlin, Malfoy! I've worked for you for _three years -_ that's three birthdays that I've celebrated in your office."

He scoffed arrogantly. "As if you ever said anything to me about it in those three years."

She looked at him icily. "Every single year I have asked to have my birthday off, and you always refuse."

He huffed angrily. "Well, when is-"

"Yours," she said quickly, cutting him off, "is on June 5th. I know because I have to help your mother arrange your own party every year. Dear God, I _attend_ your party every year."

He opened his mouth to say something snarky in return, but he was cut off once again.

"And mine, for future record, is on September 19th. It's a shame it's already passed, otherwise you could've done something _romantic_ to keep up the pretence," she said teasingly. She smiled warmly at the couple opposite, who were eavesdropping and staring again. "There's always Christmas though, isn't there? I couldn't imagine a more beautiful and romantic time of year!" She leaned forward slightly in her seat, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Every year he takes me out for dinner to Paris - but I hope he does something different this time. It's getting a bit repetitive – it's only a matter of time before seeing the Eiffel Tower covered in snow stops being romantic!"

She saw that he looked mildly annoyed and confused, so she elbowed him in the gut surreptitiously. Draco smiled tightly and forced a laugh. "Bloody hell, you said romantic a lot," he muttered to her. Then he raised his voice, hesitantly joking to the man opposite, "Maybe we'll go to America this time, where you can further drain my money." The man smile conspiratorially back at Draco, as if knowing and understanding the struggles that they, as men, faced. Suddenly Draco looked more bold and devious, encouraged by the opportunity to create their secret lives, and Hermione was helpless to stop him from saying whatever he wanted. His arm, which had been awkwardly resting around her shoulders for most of the train ride, slipped down, so that it curled around her waist and stroked her leg. "Sometimes I only think she's with me for my money, _the bad girl_."

"And yet you're clearly selfish and desperate enough to keep me around anyway," she muttered under her breath to him. Draco pinched her leg. She forced a smile to cover up her grimace; she flushed, furious that he would do that. "Of course not," she said, sickly sweet. "I'm also here for your good company. Besides, you'd die without me."

His laugh was clearly forced, and Hermione could badly tell that he wanted to say something about her snide remarks, but he was unable to in public. Especially with nosy people so close to them.

Hermione really wished that he hadn't brought his owl with them.

He wanted to change the subject before their relationship became noticeably fake. "Anyway, doll, what's the next question?"

"What is my favourite colour?"

"Oh, like I don't know that," he said aloofly. "What, did you think I brought you that pretty necklace without knowing your favourite colour is... _blue_?" He laughed somewhat hesitantly.

She eyed him critically. "Good guess..."

"The colour suits you," he offered, pleased that he had gotten at least one thing right. "Remember that dress you wore to the Yule Ball? That was the most perfect outfit I've seen you in."

Hermione was surprised that he even remembered that dress – or even the colour of it. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Well, apart from that red dress I brought for you, that you were in the other night. That was stunning, doll."

"Don't ruin it, you pig."

Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking, and Hermione had to smile a little bit.

* * *

"And my favourite food is?"

"The shit that comes out of your mouth," came the flippant reply.

"That's rich coming from _you._ At least I don't make it a habit to shove my tongue up people's arses."

"I'm beginning to doubt that, knowing how you literally _slept your way to success."_

"I _vehemently_ deny any such idea that I did not earn this job fairly. Just because people like you had no back-up preparation for the real world, Granger, does not mean that I didn't either."

"You act as if I didn't care about my future," she seethed.

"Well, somehow you ended up at my office three years ago. Didn't you, pet?" He shot back.

They sulked and stewed opposite each other, only a table separating them, now they had their cabin to themselves. While Hermione was surprised that their pretence had managed to withstand public for so long, she knew it was only a matter of time before - well, before _this_ eventually happened. There had always been a spark between her and Draco, but it had never been caused by anything other than anger.

"What is my favourite food?" He tried again.

She could see he was having difficulty restraining his ire; she was not cooperating and contributing to his master plan - that plan that he had forced her into, but would keep him out of several years in hell. "Bugger this question, Malfoy. I've had it five times - give me a new one."

* * *

"What is my middle name?"

_Lucius._

Hermione wondered whether he knew that she was lying. He did seem shocked, after all, that someone wouldn't know such things about himself – especially since his family were as close to royalty as the Wizarding World was going to get. To his credit, even if he did, he still persisted in asking her the questions.

Hermione was just miffed ( _okay,_ she was more than miffed) that he knew absolutely nothing about her.

Zilch.

They had worked together almost _every day_ for _three years_ and he hadn't learnt anything about her. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't _imagine_ it. She didn't imagine that she could go one whole day with someone without learning something – _anything_ – from them. How absorbed in himself did he have to be that entire time to miss learning _anything_ about her?

Had he not read her CV? Or any of her personal details that she had to fill out for the company's records? God, he was so _selfish_ and lazy.

"Hermione?" He called.

"I don't know."

He sighed and turned to the next question.

* * *

By the time the train arrived at their station, Draco and Hermione weren't talking to each other.

"Finally," Hermione breathed as she stepped off the train, breathing in the fresh country air. It had been a long while since Hermione had returned home, and until she was right there, she never knew how much she had missed it.

Behind her, Draco was collecting Hercules and fussing over him for being kept in his cage for so long – apparently, being in his cage for over two hours was the most that Hercules had ever experienced.

"What a great impression it'll make," Draco muttered, walking up behind her, "if we meet your parents at different times. With frowns on our faces."

Hermione's lip curled as she eyed him distastefully. She would've preferred it if Draco had never met them at all, but now she had to spend Christmas and the New Year with him. It was funny how quickly life can be ruined.

"Just like that," he said, poking her mouth.

She smacked his hand away. Her mouth lifted into a grim line instead.

"Well? Come on then, darling. Let's go and get this over with." He pushed her lightly off the train, eyeing the impatient people queuing behind him. He followed after her as she walked down the platform, moving further away from where he supposed her family was waiting for them, in the complete opposite direction of the station's exit.

She stopped suddenly and turned to face him. He set down his owl cage. "First, we need to have some rules," she said.

"Oh bloody hell," Draco groaned. "We don't need any bloody rules, Granger." He picked up his cage and began to walk back the way he came.

Hermione grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Oh yes we do. Firstly, we can't call each other by our surnames – no one does that around here. No one has pet owls around here either – and seeing owls the size of Hercules is...unusual, to say the least. Someone might shoot him-"

" _Dear Merlin,"_ he complained. "No one is going to fucking _shoot_ Hercules. I'll watch him. This is new land to him – what, do you think I'm _stupid?_ I know how to look after a dammed owl. _"_

"-and you can't say absolutely anything about magic," she continued as if he hadn't said anything. "Only my parents know – no one else. So that means no magic for the entire time we're here, okay? None. You have to assimilate. Also-"

Draco put a hand over her mouth and looked at her imploringly. "I. Am not. An idiot. Okay? Is that okay? Can you understand that, Granger?" He moved his hand away and continued his walk away from her, in the search of her parents. "Bloody hell, what was I thinking getting _you_ pregnant?"

"Give me your wand."

He stopped dead in his tracks. " _What?"_

"Your wand. Give it to me."

"You've got to be joking." He tried to laugh as if it was one. "No."

"Just in case. As a precaution."

"No."

"For safety."

"You can't just take a wizard's wand from them. No. That's _rude,_ Granger."

* * *

After walking out of the train station - wanting nothing more than to steal his wand back and go home with Hercules – and finding the entire place empty, Hermione had finally decided to inform him that they had to take a bus to their next location, which was where her parents were waiting. (Draco wasn't particularly paying attention to where they were going. He just wanted to go _home_.) (Yet, he had never _been_ on a bus before.)

He prayed that it was all going to be worth it in the end. This was just a small price to pay, after all.

They waited for another 20 minutes for the bus (an eagle owl on the bus also seemed to attract a lot of attention, Draco noted), and, almost an hour later, arrived at a countryside village that reminded Draco of his childhood home in Wiltshire.

Although there wasn't much, Hermione insisted that Draco carried all their luggage to make a good impression in front of her parents – it'd perfectly show off the nature of their relationship, she argued. "That's what you want, right, Draco?"

He grunted. "I'm a pack mule."

"Yes. You are," she agreed.

As he dragged their luggage off the bus, Hermione reminded him of more rules that they had to follow (which he ignored) and quietly and secretly transfigured their clothes (which pissed him off even more).

"Bloody hell, what is _this?"_ He asked, staring down in horror at his new clothes. "Where are my slacks – where is my _blazer_? You said we couldn't do any magic while we were here – you _took_ my wand!"

"Oh, calm down! No one saw." She tutted, surveying his new outfit. "Your clothes are just in your suitcase, all folded and pressed as you like it. This is outfit is better anyway, don't you think?" Hermione looked down at her matching red, reindeer jumper, pleased with herself. She conjured a scarf to wrap around her neck to add to the effect. "Apparently it might snow this year."

"This is wildly informal-"

" _Exactly_. You don't go on holiday in a suit, do you, Malfoy? This isn't a business deal, you don't need to look professional." He gave her a deadpan look. "Okay, maybe it _is_ a business deal, but that's only between us. Besides, it's _Christmas_." She took this opportunity to smooth out his black Christmas jumper, fix his overlapping collar, and ruffle his hair in the same manner that he usually did it, while his hands were otherwise occupied. He only glared at her, frowning; he hated it when she mothered him.

"I haven't worn skinny jeans in years," he grumbled, walking around the bus as it began to depart from its stop. She hurried after him.

"Merlin, you look _fine._ You're as put together as you usually are. You sound insecure."

"I'm not," he said petulantly.

She ignored him and instead pointed to a pair people – the only people – across the road, standing next to a car. "Once we make it there, hell begins. You're going to have to convince my family that you _know_ me." She looked at him challengingly. "Do you want to back out now, take the easy road and face prison or-? I hear they don't use Dementors anymore."

"There's no fucking way I'm going there, Hermione. You know that."

She sighed. "If only we were trying to convince _your_ family."

"Yeah, well, they're dead," he said plainly, as if it didn't bother him at all. Hermione tried not to look at him sadly; they were nearing her family and it'd only sour Draco to see her giving him pity.

"Hermione!" A blonde-haired girl called and ran over to envelope her in a hug.

"Lauren," Hermione breathed, circling her arms around the girl. The other person walked at a leisurely pace behind her.

Draco watched her as she visibly relaxed in the arms of the girl. He felt on edge, uncomfortable at that sort of familial comfort and affection; he tried not to show it as he forced a smile onto his face. This was the mother of his child reuniting with her family – the family of his child – if this was not a momentous occasion, then what was?

"My God, where have you _been?_ We've missed you over here and _Adam_ \- Oh," she said, cutting herself short as she suddenly noticed an uncomfortable-looking figure, decked in black, behind them. "Who's this?" She whispered to Hermione, eyes watching him closely as he tried to smile back. He looked so positively _alien_ – standing there, forcing a smile, a caged monstrosity of an owl sitting at his feet.

Hermione smiled nervously, her cheeks tinging red. "This is my…um, uh…" She seemed at a loss for words. _God, I don't want to tell them_ , she thought desperately. She wished that she still had a time-turner.

"Hello." Draco stepped forward, smiling as best he could and offered his hand - the girl just stared at it strangely. Draco snatched it back. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he offered by way of explanation. Hermione nodded emphatically next to him. "I'm Hermione's boyfriend."

He cringed internally; he hadn't called himself someone's boyfriend in years.

The girl – Lauren – looked at him critically, as if she was trying to place him. As if she knew that they were lying already. The other person who was with Lauren finally caught up to them.

"Well," Hermione urged somewhat anxiously. "Don't be rude. Introduce yourself."

"I just did," Draco whispered to her.

He felt as if Hermione had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. He thought that he saw her eye twitch. "Not you, darling," she said to him. "These two. Less introductions to do at the house, right? We can get straight to it and unpack."

Hermione couldn't wait to get her hands on some of the books she had managed to thieve from Draco's library, only a sample of what awaited her when they moved into Malfoy Manor. One of the dusty books must hold a solution to the incorrigible situation that Draco had managed to get them in. She just wished that her parents hadn't turned her homecoming into a reunion of sorts, like they usually did; she could barely act like a couple with Draco _now,_ with only two other people to see them. How much worse would it be when there was a crowd of them?

"I'm Hermione's cousin, Lauren Granger," Lauren said, still observing him. Draco was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "Isn't this your boss? What happened to the red-"

"Let's not, shall we?" Hermione said, effectively cutting off her cousin. "But yes, this is my boss."

Still, Draco knew exactly who they were talking about; and he would've felt slightly annoyed about it, if it wasn't for the fact that _he_ was the one having a hypothetical baby with Hermione Granger and _Weasley_ wasn't. Draco was embarrassed at his thoughts.

A hand was extended to him, and he quickly shook it, glad that this was something that he could do right. He had perfected his handshake while still in his teenage years. "I'm Jean Granger, Hermione's mother," she said.

"Jean," he repeated. "My middle name is my Father's – like Hermione's is yours."

"Oh my God," he heard Hermione whisper.

Draco was convinced that his ears had reddened from embarrassment, from all the heat that he felt on his face in the middle of winter. He knew that Hermione was just as mortified at his lack of subtly with information, but she showed it less than he did. This wasn't just embarrassing, this was utterly thick of him – he used to be so smooth with dropping information or knowledge into conversations. He cursed himself; he wanted to combust there and then.

She smiled tentatively. "And you are-?"

"Hermione's boyfriend," he supplied, embarrassed even further that he had forgotten to introduce himself. The word didn't sound any better the second time around. "Draco Malfoy."

Her eyes widened with recognition. "Oh! _You're_ -"

"Yes mother, it's him," Hermione muttered tiredly.

Lauren's eyes narrowed, taking him again. Still surveying, still contemplating – still criticising. "You know him?" She asked her aunt.

"Not only is he my boss, Lauren," Hermione said as delightfully as she possibly could, knowing and remembering the cold, dark years that they were nothing more than mortal enemies, "but we also went to school together. We have _a lot_ of history."

While Lauren seemed to take Hermione's cheerful words as gospel, he, her mother and Hermione shared a secret, dark look. His smiled faltered momentarily; her mother and father might be the hardest people to convince. It was stupid of him, really, to think that Hermione _wouldn't_ have told her parents about any of the bullying, and the dark, sullen boy who would grow up to be a Death Eater – another source of evil – and aided in her short imprisonment and torture. "Thank you for letting me stay with you for the holidays," Draco said, his voice rather thick. "I know it is last notice and all, but-"

"Don't worry about it," she said cautiously, watching Hermione from the corner of her eye. "We have more than enough room for you both."

"Anyway," Hermione sighed, linking arms with her cousin and mother and leading them back across the road to where the car awaited, "Where's Gran? Dad?"

Draco was left to trail behind with the luggage.

Her mother laughed quietly. "Oh, where they always are," she said. "In Church and working."

* * *

Draco couldn't remember falling asleep in the back of their small car, next to Hermione, but he must have. He must have because there was no way that the estate that loomed in front of him – and the few different – but necessary and expensive businesses – that he had seen as they drove through village after village until they reached these iron gates – was the childhood home of _The_ Hermione Granger. No way had she lived on a property as grand and lavish as Malfoy Manor seemed to be. There was no way. He wouldn't let himself be fooled for a moment.

Yet, the car drove over a large pothole and Draco was jolted so harshly that he was sure that he would've woken up (unless that conniving witch had _drugged_ him – but he hadn't ingested anything since they got on the train, and he was sure as hell this wasn't magic) if he had been sleeping, and that mansion was still rising the closer they got to it.

Who _was_ this – this witch that he had decided to have a fake child with? Who was this wealthy woman that, for some reason, was his assistant at a _book publishers?_ If Draco had the sort of choice that lay before her, with the amount of money that meant he would never have to work a day in his life, then he _certainly_ wouldn't be working for that simple company. No matter the perks it gave him.

"Bloody hell," Draco breathed, as their car pulled up in front of a door that opened as if by magic and drove through into an illuminated room that contained two other cars; one of which, was covered in a thick layer of dust, looking like it hadn't been used in years. He wondered whether the vehicle was Hermione's.

She stayed silent at his marvelled curse, and quietly exited the car with everyone else, exiting the bright room and heading outside to the sprawling plains of the front garden. Draco stayed behind to unload their suitcases from the book of the car, but was ushered away by her mother.

"Don't worry about those," she said, watching him carefully. "I'll get some people to help me carry them in later. You just stay with Hermione and – well. Blend in. Having an owl that size won't help you."

He muttered a quick "thank you", blinking at the idea that he was definitely being seen as being outlandish and the further criticism of his owl, and hurried after Hermione.

Once she saw that he was on her trail, she slowed her pace, letting Lauren continue on ahead by herself, and strolled casually until Draco caught up to her, and then resumed her brisk pace as they felt in step with each other. Here, she was the authority. Here, Draco's name and wealth meant nothing.

"The baggage?" She asked, worrying about where her information was and may end up.

"Your mother told me to leave it," he said quietly.

He gazed around and the number of cars that were parked on the gravelled dirt near the bottom of the small, sloping hill. _How many people lived there, in that great house?_ He was sure that it could house almost a hundred or more – like his own, but there had never been a great number of people living within its walls at one time.

Seeing his bewildered face, and Hermione's slight embarrassment, her mother said as she closed the distance between them, "I'm sure Hermione was just being modest when she didn't mention all this."

Even though most of his own wealth was locked away, Draco would've preferred it if she had no modesty, and had in fact bragged to him about every little detail of her wealth. He would've preferred it if she had prepared him to see _this_ ; he conveyed as much to her through an unimpressed look.

Hermione scoffed mirthlessly, and pulled him closer to her by looping her arm through his and holding tightly onto his woollen sleeves. She slowed their pace again, allowing her mother to slip past and ahead of them. "Did – did you ever meet Astoria's family?"

"Once or twice," he murmured, "before they broke it off. It was pleasant, really. I was worshipped."

"This isn't going to be like that," Hermione said. "They're going to pick you apart – even _before_ they find out about the baby. More so afterwards."

Draco swallowed. "I can handle aristocrats," he said, shrugging. He kept her close to him, as if she could be his shield. "I'm charismatic; I'm sure it'll be fine. And well – I've been dealing with Gryffindor aggressiveness for a while."

"These aren't _your_ selfish, scheming aristocrats," she reminded him. "These are our-," she hissed the word, "family. And they're protective of their cubs. Watch yourself, and don't answer any questions about us unless I'm there. Our story has to be flawless."

"Snakes feel no such sentiment," he told her. "Easier, really."

Hermione ignored him.

"So why did you let me believe that you were some poor little muggle-born urchin all these years?" He asked casually, his eyes still flitting around the land that surrounded them.

She sniffed. "Why do you have to assume that no one is as rich as you? I never explicitly said that I _was_ a poor little urchin – you just decided that I was. You never even asked me – for the past three years, I've been learning all about _you._ "

"You never behaved like an aristocrat, sorry that I was wrong in my observations," he replied haughtily, choosing to ignore some of her more particular statements. "After all, I never imagined that someone as wealthy as you seem to be, would be working as _my_ assistant."

"As if muggle wealth meant anything to you anyway," she said dismissively. "Besides, we're not aristocrats. We're just…We've just earned our money – _not_ inherited it like you did."

"Was that supposed to be as condescending as you made it sound? I can work for my money if I _want_ to, but I don't _need_ to. There's a difference."

She snorted. "Of course," she said. "But it still makes you a lazy bastard. _And_ you're subconsciously prejudice."

"Perhaps. I'm sure you are too. We all are, it's human nature; but we'll get over it," he said. "Nonetheless, we're teaching the baby etiquette so that no one else makes the same mistake. I don't want anyone to think for one moment that the Malfoys have lost all eloquence."

"Oh, I think we'll deal with that when we get there," she drawled. She gave him a look that begged him to remember that none of this was real, and that he had to remember not to get lost in his lies and start believing that it _was_ really happening with the way that he spoke about the baby. "There are more important things to come before that."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and looked away. He couldn't lose track of himself already; this whole thing wasn't even realistic enough to forget that it wasn't real.

She tucked away a piece of hair that had blown out of place. They faced the open doors, unmoving, hearing laughter and chatter coming from tens of adults and children. "Do you remember the rules?" She asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember the dammed rules," he said.

"You can back out now." She turned her head to look at him inquisitively. "If you want."

He had a small feeling that she wanted to back out – or, at least, didn't want to enter her family estate and reunite with her family, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was because she was with him.

"I've always wanted a daughter," he lied, smirking charmingly at her.

She ground her teeth and insisted that it was "a _boy"_ as he moved his arm to wrap around her waist, kissed the top of her head, and walked themselves into the lions' den.

* * *

Draco stood in a large kitchen, Hermione pressed to his side, with people walking through the kitchen into the equally spacious living room, chatting and smiling and welcoming him to Oxford. As if he had never set foot into Oxford.

Draco made it known to all of Hermione's family and friends that chose to welcome him to Oxford, that it was less than 2 hours away from Wiltshire, where, as a matter of fact, resided his childhood home – a manor as grand as this – and had visited Oxford a few times in his youth. He had to admit though, that he could tell that it made people uncomfortable with the saccharine voice he used, and was making him look like a complete arse; he could see these people, who had known Hermione for years, wonder what she was doing with someone as passive aggressive as himself. Even she was beginning to become annoyed at him, but Draco couldn't help it.

He sipped from the champagne glass in his hand.

Perhaps he was drunk, but he was sure that he hadn't drank nearly enough for that yet.

"I can't believe you took away from me the only thing that could improve this party – if only slightly," she groaned, looking at his flute longing.

"Small sacrifices, Hermione," he said airily. "I'll drink enough for the both of us."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, removing the glass from his hand as he was about to take another swig. "You've had enough. I can't imagine how much worse you'll be with the rest of this in your system. People aren't buying _this_."

Draco shrugged, unhappy that she had removed his pleasure. "Well, what are we supposed to do about that?" He asked non-committedly. Suddenly, he grinned. "Make-out right here, right now, Granger? Because I'm game for that."

She frowned, trying not to sneer at him. "You're disgusting. _No."_

He sniffed. "There's nothing disgusting about that. It's what couples _do."_

"Couples also have sex, but there's no way that we're going to do that."

They both fell silent as some people passed them by. By now, Draco had already scared most people away – and the ones he hadn't, decidedly didn't want to speak to him; everyone seemed to be as far away from them as they could get in the kitchen or amassing in the living room.

He picked up a canapé from a large table laden with food in front of them. "How about," he said, slowly, as if he had a grand idea, "if we just _stop_ bickering for a while? That's rather unhealthy in a relationship." He ate the canapé in one bite. "Sound good, love?"

Her lip curled, and he gave her a condescending look. She, instead, smiled sweetly. "I wasn't sure whether you were actually capable of that," she said, " _darling."_

"I can be a doting boyfriend slash father if I want to," he pointed out. "Can _you_ stop being so annoying for one minute, so that I can actually pretend that I love you?"

"Hormones, darling," she said. "They're a real bitch."

Draco scoffed. "So, when are you actually going to tell anyone that you're-"

"Hermione, sweetheart, come out here. What are you doing in the kitchen?" Her mother called, poking her head into the room.

Neither of them had even noticed that they were the only ones left in the kitchen. "Oh, just having some quiet time with Draco," she said, grasping his hand and pulling him behind her as she walked over to her mother, and everyone else – most of whom, he hadn't been properly introduced to – in the living room. "We'll be out in a second. Come on, darling."

* * *

"So, how did you two meet?" Natalie, who Hermione had introduced as another one of her cousins, asked.

Grudgingly, Hermione had introduced the two of them almost ten minutes ago, and since then they had been locked in agonising conversation about nothing. Draco could easily tell that Natalie wasn't one of her more preferred cousins (see: Lauren Granger), and that she was trying her hardest to continue whatever dry subject they had stumbled upon – and when Draco wasn't feeling particularly stifled himself, he was being the loveable boyfriend, who made jokes and asked about Natalie's life (as if she needed any more prompting to talk about herself – though, he was sure that Hermione could've said the same about him) and gave Hermione a plethora of pet names – some of which, he wasn't proud of.

"I'm actually Hermione's boss at Dragonhide publishers," he said, sneaking a glance at Hermione. "But, you know, we first met at school. It was hate at first sight-"

"Wait," Natalie said, effectively cutting Draco off. "He's _your_ boss?

Draco and Hermione both looked cautiously at each other. "Yes, but that-"

"He's the owner of the company, right? The _overall_ boss," she suggested.

Draco laughed. "Oh, no. As much as I would love that, I'm not. I'm merely the chief editor," he said, as modestly as he ever could. "Nevertheless, I'm hoping to be named the _overall_ boss once the current one retires."

Natalie looked at Hermione curiously, her head cocked to the side and a confused smile on her face. Hermione's cheeks were slightly red with blush. "So, you're-?"

Hermione laughed nervously. "I'm Draco's-"

" _Personal assistant,"_ a deep, male voice said, cutting Hermione off before she could finish her sentence once more.

The man, who Draco assumed could only be Hermione's father from the likeness of both of their faces, said 'personal assistant' with so much disdain that it actually made him rather annoyed and embarrassed on Hermione's behalf – even more so by the way that he and Natalie shared a disappointed look. His grip on Hermione's hand tightened slightly. "Mr Granger," Draco said politely, masking his ire, and reaching out to shake his hand. He took it hesitantly. "With all due respect, Sir, whilst it's nice to meet you, finally, I think you need to give your daughter little more credit than that. Being someone's personal assistant isn't exactly at the bottom of the pile."

Hermione stayed quiet, whilst her father frowned.

"It is if you have so much more potential to be _more,"_ he said, looking at her critically. "To have more than just this – _chief editor_. You could get a much better job from being in an opportune relationship than a PA. A _personal assistant_ – what is that ever going to do for you, Hermione?"

"I come home after a few years away – and _this_ is how you treat me?" Hermione said furiously, in a quiet voice. " _This_ is why I don't visit often."

"I'll have you know, Sir, that _I_ was a personal assistant, once upon a time," Draco said, trying to catch her father's eye and direct his attention to him instead. "And I am as bright as her, and as wealthy as her – I, in fact, own my own manor not too far away from here in Wiltshire. I think that, whatever she is doing, she-" Draco huffed angrily, knowing that he was getting too worked up about this, when this was nothing. "She's a wonderful personal assistant, and I give her any opportunity that I can for her to progress – but _not_ because we're in a relationship."

"And what's an aristocrat such as yourself doing working as a chief editor, anyway, Mr Malfoy?" He sneered, taking Draco in – his dishevelled hair and all.

Draco was just about to snap a reply, when Hermione's mother stepped into their small circle, holding two flutes of champagne. He hadn't even noticed that Natalie had left the three of them, nor did he notice that he was perhaps holding Hermione's hand too hard and loosened his grip. He whispered "sorry" low enough only for Hermione to hear; she only gave an imperceptible nod and turned her head away from him.

"Ah, I see you've met Henry, then," she said nicely.

"Yes," Draco said frostily. "It was a pleasure."

Jean bristled, looking ashamedly at her husband and sadly at her daughter. She didn't seem surprised that something such as this had happened. Henry, who seemed to feel the need to explain what had happened in the moments before said, "I was just asking her why she was still working for him. She's always said how much she hated him."

Draco clicked his tongue and shook his head once, looking at anyone around the room with a bitter smile on his face. Hermione cleared her throat.

A pregnant silence passed over the four of them. Henry didn't seem to regret saying anything, but Jean seemed to regret coming over to them.

"Well, I just came here to offer you both another glass of drinks," Jean said, holding out a glass to each of them.

Draco picked up his, and thanked her; he gave a Hermione a discreet sly look, which she returned. He gladly sipped from his flute, unhindered, as he waited for Hermione to make the announcement.

_Oh,_ Draco gleefully thought, _they're going to have a heart attack if they think that she still hates me._

"No, thank you, mother," Hermione said, a smirk coming over her face. She wrapped her other arm around Draco's waist. "I won't be drinking for a while."

Henry's eyes widened; Draco winked at him.

"Not-?" Jean said, speechless.

"I'm – well, I'm pregnant."

* * *

After Hermione had called for everyone's attention, so that she and her _darling_ Draco could make a very important announcement – that they were expecting a child towards the end of next year – the both of them became swarmed by well-wishers, giving the pair of them ample opportunity to avoid both of her parents (who didn't seem pleased at this new information) and further construct their relationship. There were cousins (including Lauren, who no matter how much she seemed to distrust Draco, watching and listening on the side-lines), aunts and uncles, and neighbours and friends all crowding around them, congratulating them politely, but hesitantly probing the idea of marriage.

It seemed that in both of their wealth circles, having a child and possibly living together was grossly unethical outside of marriage.

Both of them kindly told them that there was no prospect of marriage in the near future, that they were happy with how they were and that marriage wasn't a big deal for them anyway, but they were still both in it for the long run, and didn't plan on abandoning their own, individual parental roles at any point. Hermione's mother, whenever Draco did manage to catch a glimpse of her among the sea of people in front of them, seemed quietly happy for her daughter and excited at the prospect of a grandchild – but there was still hesitance in the way that she looked at him, probably recalling the most recent time when Hermione had spoken about her hatred for himself.

Draco wondered how recent that was. He didn't think that he had been that bad to her as of late.

"So how did you come across this young man, eh, Mione?" One of her neighbours asked. His name was Ted, from what Draco had heard people calling him; it didn't seem like a wealthy name to him, but he hadn't seen any other great buildings such as this on the way, so perhaps he _wasn't._

Draco felt Hermione cringe at what he supposed was a nickname, rather than seeing it.

Hermione laughed quietly and quickly. "Oh, well. It's a real story, isn't it, Draco?" She joked.

"It really is something of a miracle, looking back on it," he said.

"We actually met at _Fettes College_ \- over a decade ago now!"

Draco stored away that information; he was now a past student of _Fettes College_ , wherever that was. He assumed that it was a boarding school, like Hogwarts.

"There was always such a rivalry going on between us – and our friends, you know Harry and Ron – at Fettes, and we just absolutely hated each other! Couldn't stand to be in each other's presence for more than one moment," she recounted.

"And then it was our Fourth Year there," Draco jumped in, ready to infuse the story with a hopelessly romantic story line, "and there was this Christmas party – a ball, if you will. I watched Hermione descend the stairs with her date – some sports star or other - in her periwinkle blue dress – and, I was sold. She was genuinely breath-taking; I couldn't even think of anything to say to her. Speechless. I was utterly speechless."

"Truly," Hermione said quietly, looking at him curiously; this was the second time today that he had mentioned that night. Draco was just grinning at her lopsidedly, his head cocked to the side. It seemed like an opportune time to quickly give her a kiss on the lips, but he wasn't quite there yet – and neither was she; being as closely pressed to each other as they were was more than enough contact, and more than they had ever experienced with one another. "It was the first time that he didn't have any remark to make. Still, he didn't make a move."

Those around them had fond smiles on their faces, so obviously buying the show that the both of them were putting on. Some even seemed to know what dress he was speaking about.

Draco chuckled. "No, but I should've. Maybe things would've changed," he said. "Anyway, we left Fettes and didn't see each other properly again until three years ago now, when she arrived at Dragonhide and applied for a job as my personal assistant. I hired her on the spot and it's been a dream ever since."

"Though, even then he still didn't make a move, wanting to keep it a purely _professional_ relationship." She nudged him, a sly twinkle in her eye. "Left me to do it myself. As usual. _Luckily_ for me, he loves Chinese food, or I don't think he would have ever agreed."

Draco had never had Chinese before in his life, had never even stepped foot in China or any other Asian country. He was even rather miffed that she made him seem like he was unconfident and perhaps didn't excel at some of his other… _gentlemanly duties._ He was absolutely wonderful, if he did say so himself – not that she would know, of course.

"My mother always said that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach," one of her cousins added, to the agreement of others.

Hermione and he thought that that was total bullshit, but they didn't show it.

"So you two just – put all those years of torment behind you?" Henry said, hinting at his disbelief.

Hermione stiffened.

"Well," Draco said evenly, not wanting to showcase any tension between them. "As adults, we've most put all of it behind us. Childhood grudges fade away, you know? We hadn't seen each other in _6 years_ since the end of school; we'd grown up, learnt about life, let go and forgotten about each other. All the years before that – well, the ire that arose from competitiveness at school was just simply childish, and just seems less understandable now we're older and…together." Draco heard someone scoff, but it wasn't difficult for him to guess who it may have been; everyone else seemed to be on an equal level of understanding. "Isn't that right, honey?"

"Well, there have been some bumps on the road, but everyone has that," she said. "And Draco is nothing but lovely. He's been taking me out to Paris for the past two years at Christmas, showering me with gifts despite begging him not to squander his wealth on me. But he never listens." She sighed wistfully. "He even took me out for a fancy dinner yesterday – _and_ brought me a new dress."

Draco shrugged, as some of those around them gushed about how wonderful it was for him to treat her like that. He sipped his champagne in a victorious manner; he looked imploringly at some of the men around them and declared, "Every princess deserves to be treated like a queen. And the baby will be treated like royalty too, when it's born."

People laughed, but Hermione seemed less than impressed. "You think he's joking," she said dryly, sipping her water.  
  
He kissed the top of her head, grinning against her skin.


	4. It's Raining; It's Pouring; You're Snoring

CHAPTER 4: IT'S RAINING; IT'S POURING; YOU'RE _SNORING_

* * *

 

Hermione tried not to smile grimly when she was shown their room, tried not to frown at the rush of genuine affection that Draco had at seeing his owl, which seemed to surpass any that he had faked when they were together.

She was just glad that they hadn’t been given her childhood bedroom, with the single bed. At least the allocation of this room, further away from her parents’ bedroom than her old room had ever been, meant that they had believed their story somewhat.

“Thank you, mum – and dad, for the room,” she said brusquely, brushing past her parents and Draco to stand inside the room. She wanted them gone as soon as possible so that she could privately berate Draco for his rudeness, unload the books from her trunk and research, structure a better game plan than what they currently had - and, more than anything, she wanted to sleep.

That bloody homecoming had gone on for  _hours._

“This bed will be fine for you both, won’t it?” Henry asked, implying something in his undertones that struck so close to home within Hermione and Draco that they both had to laugh anxiously.

She glanced to Draco; she could see that he was itching to make a crude comment to her father, who was suspiciously watching him. Her cheeks tinged with red. “It’s more than fine,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you again.”

Draco stepped into the room, looking around himself, quietly impressed. He paid particular attention to the lake that laid in their lands, which he could partially see from the large French doors in their room; the only thing that blocked it from view was a small patch of woodland that seemed to wind around the rest of the estate. On the wall, to the right of the French doors was the smallest bookshelf he had ever seen, so pitiful considering the wealth that they had; they could've spent their money on acquiring a large one that took up the entire wall, instead of the three shelves that it currently sported. There were two little, hardly necessary armchairs sat near it, and a little side table.

Then there was the bed. Easily a double bed, but could have nearly been a king-sized bed for the amount of space that it took up in the room, placed to the left of the doors, so only minimal light from the sun (when it was morning) shone on the bodies within it. He felt drowsy just looking at it; at the many goose-feather pillows and the thick duvet for the winter spread across it.

“The bed seems big enough,” he said nonchalantly, running his hands across the fabric of the sheets. _Yes, they really were as soft as they looked_. He shot a dark look to her father, and Hermione ground her teeth. “I can sometimes move around a lot in bed. Right, Hermione?”

Draco hadn’t slept in a bed like that for years, after the majority of his wealth had been seized, and he was forced to live like a commoner. His own lumpy, cold, lonely double bed had nothing on what he was faced with now.

And he didn’t care whether Hermione was  _pregnant_  or a lady or not – the bed was  _his._  She could share it with him – he didn’t particularly care – or she could find an extra blanket, take one of the excess pillows and enjoy the sweet, hard floor.

Instead of replying to him, she kneeled on the floor and scooped a large, white, fat cat from under the bed. She saw Draco stand to attention and move protectively in front of Hercules, and quietly snorted. “Tell the cousins to make sure their animals – or themselves – don’t come in this room,” she said, purposely nodding to the distressed father of her child, standing guard by the cage of his monstrous owl that seemed more than capable of looking after itself. “Wanting privacy is more important now than ever with two wizards in the same room; especially since Draco has hardly had much experience in hiding it from a wide range of Muggles before.”

Jean took the cat from Hermione’s arms, nodding understandingly at her daughter’s words. “Well,” she said, steering her husband out of the doorway, subsequently breaking his and Draco’s stare down, “we know when we’re being dismissed. We’ll see you both in the morning for breakfast. I hope you both sleep well!”

“Oh _-oomph_.” Hermione elbowed Draco in the gut before he could finish, but it didn’t stop him from looking anything less than amused as he pulled her to him and whispered in her ear that that wasn’t very polite, watching her parents exiting out of the corner of his eyes.

“Goodnight!” Henry and Jean mumbled, swinging the door closed behind them.

Draco and Hermione both bid them both goodnight; Draco a lot more cheerfully than Hermione did. As soon as they had firmly shut the door behind them, he threw himself onto the bed and let out a moan as he relaxed onto the comforter. His eyes slowly shut…

Until Hermione began to lecture him.

“Go away, woman,” he groaned, turning over and pressing his face into the quilts. “Let me have my peace.”

A cushion hit his back, but it hardly mattered. Then another hit him, and another. _Where was she getting these pillows from?_

“Get up, you lazy bastard,” she snapped. “This is your fault, your idea. The _least_ you could do is cooperate.”

“I want to sleep,” he whined.

“You can sleep when you’re dead - which will be soon if you don’t start taking some damn responsibility.”

He sighed and rolled back over to stare at the ceiling. “Fine. What is it that you want?”

“ _You_ need to stop being so bloody rude. Especially to my father. Do you really think that people will believe that I would willingly date and have a _child_ with an arsehole like you? They need to be able to find a reason why someone like me would want to be with…someone like you.”

“Up until today, I entertained the idea that you were with me for my wealth.” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “But I see now that that’s pointless. And anyway, someone has to defend this relationship from Henry – _you’re_ not. You’re not even defending yourself. I believe that, as any good boyfriend, it’s clear than I’m standing up for the woman that I’m supposed to love.” He sat up to face her, looking pleased with himself. “Does that not send a good message?”

Her lip curled. “I’ve been dealing with the consequences of working for _you_ for a long time, Malfoy. I can handle my father; I don’t need a knight in shining armour – or whatever you think yourself to be.”

Draco snorted, clearly entertained by her reaction. “Fine, have it your way then.” He shrugged, not bothered about having some responsibility taken away from him. “I’ll be pleasant tomorrow - the son that your father always wanted - if that pleases milady. We can blame it on tiredness or something – _but,_ if you don’t let me sleep now, then that bad mood might just continue.”

Hermione looked slightly crestfallen and as if she was going to persist this argument with something more, but she stopped herself. “No one wants a son like you,” she said. “I sure as hell don’t. And anyway, you can’t sleep until we’ve un-”

Draco decided not to correct her on the sex of the baby again, seeing that she was on the verge of ripping her hair out. Instead, he decided to help her.

With a wave of his hand and a smug little smirk at her rising frustration, their trunks unlatched themselves: clothes flew out of them, without creases and folded, and into draws that automatically opened themselves; shoes lined themselves up in pairs in front of the French doors; coats and jackets hung themselves on hangers in their wardrobe, and his books found their way to the small bookcase.

“There. Done in a jiffy. We’ve unpacked successfully.”

“You let me take your wand _thinking_ that you were inept at wandless magic?” She shrilled. Draco sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t mention the dammed rules again, but he was sorely disappointed. “I said that we’re not supposed to _use_ magic here – what if someone had walked in?”

He rolled his eyes. “For the record, Granger, I did not _let_ you take my wand,” he said. “And if you knew everything about me, it’d make things so terribly boring, wouldn’t it? I like to show my cards when I see a benefit.”

Hermione crossed her arms, embarrassed that he had tricked her. “Oh, and what was the benefit this time? _And_ _what if someone had walked in?_ ”

“Oh come on now, is that really a question?” He merely waved his hand in a careless manner. “I’d _Obliviate_ them, of course.”

She breathed in deeply, as if trying to reach an inner peace. She pinched her nose, unable to look at him. “And what about reading your books, to find a solution to this mess that you’ve dragged us in? We have to make _some_ headway to keep up the charade, you know. Unless…you don’t mind being arrested for lying to a court.”

Draco groaned, throwing himself back down onto the bed. “Bloody hell, it’s almost midnight. _I’m tired._ Aren’t you?”

“You’re such an old man,” she sneered. Hermione was also tired, though she wouldn’t admit to his face that he was right. Still, she didn’t know when they’d get another opportunity to be alone and undisturbed to research their problem; and they needed to do it soon before she was supposed to start showing “signs”.

_God, what a_ disaster.

“I’m a _father –_ I’m allowed to be unreasonably tired. I’m too young for this.”

“Hardly. And shouldn’t I be more tired than you, being the mother and all? You’re not exactly carrying another living thing inside you right now,” she muttered.

“It’s not technically a living thing right now, you know that, right? It’s basically just a ball of cells.”

“Oh sorry,” she said sarcastically, “I didn’t realise that we were being specific about this thing. I’m sure thinking it’s just a ball of cells will make this whole thing easier.” Hermione shrugged coolly. “Speaking of pregnancy, shouldn’t we be reading some books so we can fake this as accurately as possible? Like, what am I supposed to be feeling? When is the bump going to appear? We need _planning.”_

“Morning sickness,” Draco suggested. “I hear a lot of pregnant women have it. And the whole hormones thing – you’re doing fantastic with that. Really moody.”

“Malfoy, honest to _God_. I really feel like I’m the only one taking this seriously, and I’m not even the one who this affects the most, and-”

Draco wished that he was standing near her so that he could shake her by the shoulders or clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her words from reaching his ears – or just so he could hold her head still and make sure that she looked at him when he very calmly placated her, like any good boyfriend. He sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand across his face. “Hermione,” he said slowly, gaining enough of her attention that she stopped _herself_ from talking. “My dear, what we both need is _sleep –_ not more planning. “I’ll,” he couldn’t believe that he was compromising with her, but he supposed that everything really was _his_ responsibility, “I’ll look at some of those ‘what to expect when you’re expecting’ books, and some potions and spells and what have you tomorrow, while you do whatever you do when you’re with your family, and it’ll be _fine._ Alright?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “You’ll handle it?” She severely doubted that her family would allow her and Draco to be separated for an entire day, or would allow him to miss out on all the family bonding now that he was a part of their family, but she’d like to see him try.

“I’ll handle it,” he said gently. “I am a business man, Hermione Granger. I can deal with heavy workloads.”

She refrained from scoffing. “What a lucky woman I am.”

“So I can sleep undisturbed now?”

Hermione heaved a sigh, nodding her head. “Yes. I suppose you’ve claimed the bed then, and I’m taking the floor? I repeat: _what a lucky woman I am.”_

He smiled slowly, ignoring her snide comments; he kicked off his shoes and whipped off his socks afterwards. “You can share the bed with me like a real pair of lovers, if you really want. I, frankly, don’t care where you sleep; but if someone comes in in the night or the morning…”

She ground her teeth. He _did_ have a point, but she hoped that her request for privacy didn’t fall upon deaf ears. Though, that was hardly something that she could count on when she had her cousins living under the same roof as her – some of which, had no sense of boundaries. And then there was the problem of their memories…She’d have to lie in the same bed as him sometime, and there really was no time like the present.

Maybe lying next to her boss in bed would trigger the sickness she was supposed to be feeling during pregnancy.

When he began to strip himself of his jumper and shirt, Hermione made a distressed noise. Looking horribly entertained at her strangled scream and her attempts at looking anywhere but where he was standing, he paused, his shirt more than halfway unbuttoned and hanging open, and asked her if there was a problem. He looked like the man on the cover of a bloody romance novel – which he’d probably take as the highest compliment; he had always thought that she was into that type of ‘literary trash’, as he called it, despite idolising the men on the cover himself.

“Never seen an almost naked man before, Granger?” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “How, precisely, did you get pregnant?”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” she grumbled, but it held no weight; her cheeks were still red. “I just don’t think that I should see-” Hermione stopped herself, knowing that she’d just sound stupid if she continued.

“You don’t think that you should see _what,_ exactly?” He asked, continuing to unbutton the rest of his shirt, and threw it on the floor, where his jumper was currently lying. His fingers danced around the edge of his trousers, trying to gage whether it’d be going too far to make her witness that, but she seemed to be purposely ignoring him and his teasing. “We’re supposed to be together, pet. It’s only natural that you should be used to seeing _this.”_ He gestured proudly to his shirtless self. “You can’t be blushing like a virgin every time you see a little bit of my skin.”

Hermione didn’t particularly want to see her boss semi-naked (or, yes, lie with him) – especially as it was someone as deplorable as Malfoy – and didn’t want to have the memory of his lithe, toned body, with a series of thin, silver scars from the War scattered across his torso, ingrained in her mind. Although, he wasn’t completely perfect, as he’d have himself believe. Yes, Hermione confirmed to herself, eyes quietly taking in his proud body; he wasn’t exactly the stereotypical Greek Adonis that he portrayed: he was a little pudgy in some places from no longer participating in regular Quidditch training or matches, he was a little too pale and his delicate happy trail of blond hair wasn’t so attractive to Hermione, but he wasn’t _bad._ Not in the least.

But still, none of that was the point. She didn’t want the memory. She didn’t want any of this.

“Can I take these off – or do you want to leave, and I’ll tell you when this masterpiece is hidden under the covers?” He smiled wolfishly. “You’re really missing out, pet.”

Hermione sniffed, and stared him in the eye as she said, “I don’t care, _darling_. Take them off; it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And of course I’ll be sleeping next to you, but you better keep your hands off me if you’re as tired as you claim.”

She tried to ignore Draco’s guffaws as she forced herself to keep his eye contact. He unbuckled his belt slowly, playfully raising his eyebrows and gently swaying to his own tune; he only laughed harder when he heard Hermione mutter “for God’s sake, stop with the strip tease”, but, for her sake, took his trousers off normally and threw them to join the rest of his clothes.

Oh God and his _legs._ Absolutely covered in fine blond hair.

“There,” he said smugly, “that wasn’t so bad, was it, love? Quite enjoyable, really.” Mirth was still evident in his voice, and she hated it. Her face was on fire. “You know, usually I sleep in the buff-,” he flexed what muscle he did have in his arms then, and Hermione thought that he must’ve believed himself to be an utter comic, “but just for you, love, I’ll keep the boxers.” He threw himself back onto the bed and resumed his relaxed position, arms crossed under his head.

She took in a deep, calming breath. _Boxers,_ she cursed to herself. _Boxer_ briefs. She had been naïve enough to hope that he wore boxer shorts, but she should’ve known that briefs was more his style. That bastard.

Jesus. She could see the - No. She wasn’t even going to finish the thought.

“So, my lovely lady: when are you joining me?”

He was really testing her and taking complete joy from it all.

“Just give me a minute,” she replied sweetly.

Hermione took off her own shoes and socks, throwing them all into the same pile as Draco’s, then moved onto stripping herself of her matching jumper. Draco watched her amusedly, counting in his head and waiting for her to give in and take the floor. She was Hermione – yes, Jean, Draco recalled – Granger, and there was no way that he saw her going through with the challenge that she had set herself.

When she froze on her shirt buttons, he said to her, “you know you don’t have to try to outdo me, Granger.”

“Scared that I will?” She retorted, turning around and pulling out a large nightshirt from her drawers.

“Oh, you probably could if you _thought_ you could.” He sat up again, watching her better. “I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself.”

“Embarrass myself?” She asked, keeping her back turned to him as she unbuttoned it the rest of the way. She put her nightshirt over her head, slipped her shirt off and quickly put her arms through the sleeves of the nightshirt. “Why should I be embarrassing myself?” Her pyjama shorts were easier to put on, seeing as she was thankfully wearing a skirt. “Maybe I do think that I’m as wonderful as you seem to think that you are.”

“If you did, my lovely, you certainly don’t show it. And, for the record, it is a proven fact that I am wonderful - not just an honest opinion of myself.”

“Whatever.”

She didn’t give herself time to look at him as she approached and slid under the covers, covering herself up from him. He gave her a curious look, but slid off the bed and finally covered himself up with the covers as he swung himself in next to her.

She smelled like coconut. He smelled more like champagne and apples. A sort of cider.

They both lay on their backs, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling - bare legs touching bare legs, his almost-bare body pressed against her clothed one, body warmth being shared - and regretted everything that had led to this situation. Were they tired before this moment? Well, they weren’t anymore. Neither had any idea how to go about falling asleep, a most vulnerable state, with someone else next to them – or even in the room with them. This was most definitely something that they weren’t used to – even Draco, who Hermione believed to always be sleeping around, didn’t often have women staying the night with him.

A storm began outside, heavy rain splattering against the French doors and creating a riot of noise.

* * *

 

 

His owl was hooting. He had forgotten to let it outside. How could he have forgotten? Owls were nocturnal.

Grumbling to himself, he dragged himself out of the bed with difficulty. Hermione stirred under the covers, and he knew that he and Hercules had woken her up.

Had it been more than five minutes since he had finally fallen asleep? He checked the clock in the room. _Oh, wonderful,_ he thought to himself, moving away from the clock and to his bloody bird, _it has actually been_ ten _minutes_.

“Malfoy,” she slurred. “I’m going to murder you _and_ your fucking bird.”

His hands fumbled on the cage’s lock longer than usual, tiredness consuming his brain. He couldn’t quite see properly. “I get to murder the bird first,” Draco said. It was still raining heavily outside, but if it wanted to go out…

“Get rid of it,” she whined.

“Working on it.”

She pulled the covers tighter around her when he opened the door, letting in large gusts of cold air that inflated the curtains and rain that froze his body and covered the floor under his feet. He all but flung the owl on his arm out of the door, wanting to close it as quickly as possible. It, thankfully, took off into the night despite the storm.

Shivering from the wintry weather, he staggered back to the bed and crawled into it. His hand touched Hermione’s shirt, the iciness of it seeping through and causing her to gasp and wriggle out of his grasp as he pulled her closer to him, her back pressing to his chest. The cold had electrified her and served to wake her up more than she already was, but he was warm. Not hot like it had been, but warm, as if the wind had doused the flames.

“Just for a little while,” he murmured, trembling behind her. “We don’t want me getting hypothermia.”

“Oh I _do.”_ She gasped again as his hand slid under her shirt to press against the warmth of her bare stomach; she tried to push it away with her hands, but it didn’t budge. “You’re really pushing it, Malfoy. I will _smother_ you.”

“That’s cute, Granger. Go to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oh, how she envied him. How she _wished_ that she could be in as deep a sleep as he was.

But, here she was, listening to him snore the room down. It really was a wonder that he was able to attract anyone with such a noisy quality – and the thought that they were able to stay in his bed next to him for the night without being disturbed by it? It was ridiculous – they must’ve been deaf! And the worst – the absolutely worst part of it all, the one that made Hermione grind her teeth together and pray for extra strength – was the fact that as he breathed out after each one _he whistled._

His snoring might’ve been the only thing that she didn’t envy about him.

It was so infuriating that she would’ve thought that he was awake and doing it on purpose, but she had checked, and he wasn’t. That snoring coupled with the ongoing storm outside, and the abnormal feeling of having someone in the bed with her – and knowing that that someone was _Draco Malfoy -_ was making it terribly difficult to sleep. At least the owl had been eliminated now, and she had been able to roll him away from her once he had fallen asleep…

Groaning, she pulled a pillow over her head and tried to block out the outside world as best she could.

* * *

 

 

“Hermione.” His lips were moving against her skin, calling her out from her slumber. “Hermione. The window. Owl. _Hermione.”_

“What?” She rubbed her palm against her eyes, acutely aware of his position on her. Lips on her bare shoulder, speaking into the skin as if she could understand what he was mumbling, his heavy arm lying like a dead weight across her stomach, anchoring her to the mattress, and the fine wisps of his hair tickling her chin. Was he comfortable like that? She could barely understand how he had gotten himself in such a position in the first place.

“ _Get the fucking owl.”_

The bird pecked at the window as a testament to what he had just said.

Hermione threw her arm over her eyes and yawned. “Why can’t you get it? I was sleeping.”

“So am I,” he retorted. Was it just her, or was there a growing wet patch on her shoulder? She hoped that he wasn’t slobbering all over her. _What a disgusting pig_. “You’re my assistant.” He pulled his arm off her as if allowing her to get up from the bed, tucking it back into his side. “Go. Stop it. _Assist._ ”

Cursing under her breath, she shoved him away from her and swung her legs out from under the covers. He was unperturbed, and turned over to his other side to continue ‘sleeping’. Thankfully, the storm had ceased sometime in the night, and Hermione was able to open the doors for the owl to come in without a problem; it wasn’t Hercules, but she knew that it must’ve been for Draco from work. She took the letter from its foot, and allowed it to fly back outside.

She broke the seal and read the address line. “It’s from Dragonhide,” she told him.

He groaned into the pillow. “See? Didn’t I tell you that I wouldn’t be left alone?” He pushed himself up from the bed, finally, and sat with his back against the headboard. “What a bloody holiday.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the benefits,” she said, looking him over. Last night must’ve been the best sleep that he had had in a long time.

He chose to ignore her. “What does it say?” He asked around a large yawn, so contagious that Hermione had to cover her mouth as she also yawned from the sight of him.

Hermione skimmed the letter as she perched on the bed, tucking one leg underneath her. “They know about…us,” she said. “ _Apparently,_ Mr Doug Wilson, of Dragonhide Publishers, is willing to…overlook this breach in your employee code, given that it, to him, is proof that you’ve progressed as a person.” She muttered something under her breath, too quiet for Draco to hear, of her personal opinion about what the letter was apparently claiming. Her eyebrows furrowed as she continued to read it, glancing at Draco who seemed to be as intrigued by it all as she was – and, as usual, suspicious.

“What does he want in return?” He cautiously asked.

“He wants…to meet us. Soon. Before we have to go back to the Ministry. It says that he personally wants to discuss this matter, as the one who hired you in the first place.” She looked up from the letter to see him frowning. “Why does he want to meet us?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Legitimacy? But we can’t go back to London publically, or allow either of us to be sighted. We’re supposed to report to the Ministry as soon as we leave this holiday of sorts.”

“So we apologise, and deny the invitation.”

“No. He’s The Boss. If you have forgotten, I’m supposed to be taking over from him when he retires.”

“‘ _Supposed to be’,”_ she drawled. “You and every other highly appointed employee are _supposed to be_ taking over from Mr Wilson.”

“If we _don’t_ go, he might demote me or fire me – and then you won’t get my promised payment.”

Hermione was about to retort, when there was a knock at the door and the tentative voice of her mother asking if she and Draco were awake yet. She was just about to reply that they were, when Draco answered for her, leaping out of bed and pulling on his slacks from yesterday. She didn’t think that she had ever seen him move so fast.

“Uh, just a moment, Mrs Granger,” he called. He sharply nodded his head towards the bathroom in a silent command for Hermione to go there; at first she was reluctant to go, but he had obviously cursed her with a vomiting curse, and she scrambled across the room to the toilet. Draco followed her in, patting her on the shoulder and congratulating her on being a mother as she emptied her stomach, all the while cussing at him around the vomit. After kissing her sweat-beaded forehead, he swaggered out, and opened their door with an apologetic smile. He was glad not to see Henry there with Jean, but in his stead was Lauren and some other, younger cousins – one of which, was holding the white, cumbersome cat from last night. “Sorry I took so long,” he paused naturally as he listened for the sweet music of his assistant’s retching. He held their eyes – particularly Jean’s – knowingly. “Morning sickness.”

Her mother looked surprised, for whatever reason. Perhaps she didn’t actually think that her daughter could be pregnant. “This was just a breakfast call,” she said, looking at the others by her. “If Hermione’s experiencing morning sickness, you better make sure that she actually _attends.”_

He smiled charmingly. “Of course,” he said. “If she’s not feeling much better, I may bring some breakfast back up for her instead - if it’s not a problem.”

“As long as she’s looking after herself and that baby, then it’s not a problem.”

“See you at breakfast.”

“Hopefully I’ll see you _both_ at breakfast.”

* * *

 

 

Once they left, Draco made sure to consult Hermione about her morning sickness predicament.

And by _consult,_ Draco meant that he just informed her that he was going to breakfast without her, thinking that he could probably do better on his own, asked if she had any cravings or aversions, then added a headache on top of the vomiting, and left the room after another head-pat.

At breakfast, he had to explain to everyone that Hermione was suffering from a terrible bout of morning sickness and was unable to make it, and was luckily handed a plate of breakfast for her by Jean (who also suggested that if Hermione’s morning sickness was as bad as it was now on a regular basis, that she might need to go to hospital – but Draco was sure that she was fine), instead of him having to guess what her favourites and least favourite foods were. Furthermore, because it was set out like a buffet, he was able to pile it up with other things that he deemed to be her cravings, as well being able to speak to her family unhindered. He was much better by himself when it came to socialising – especially without the criticisms of Granger. He liked to think of himself as a free spirit.

Their dining room was nothing like the one back in Malfoy Manor. Absolutely _everyone_ in this house sat together in this dining room and ate their breakfast, not in silence – _oh, no –_ but with warm chatter, as if it was back in Hogwarts. (Or, Fettes, he reminded himself.) This dining room was blue and white and silver, so light and _blue_ that it looked as if it was supposed to be in an apartment that overlooked the coast; Malfoy Manor’s, in comparison, looked as if it belonged in a castle high up in the mountains or woods, one that was occupied by a vampire that everyone feared and never visited. Still, at least his manor’s dining room made it clear that they were of a nobility and wealthy, whereas this, despite its exquisite nature, looked as if it had been desperately decorated with the intention of being casual.

He spotted Henry sitting at the head of the table, talking to other men that must’ve been cousins or his brothers, with a vacant seat by him, and moved to take it. However, an arm locked with his, and he looked down to see Lauren steering him away, to seats that were left unoccupied on the opposite end of the table to Henry.

“Let’s sit together,” she said. Draco would’ve rebutted her, but he thought that to keep to his promise of the angelic boyfriend, it’d be in his interests to avoid Henry as often as possible, for as long as destiny allowed him to.

“If you’re trying to make a move on your cousin’s boyfriend, I’d politely ask you to reconsider,” he said, slipping into the plush chair opposite her. “When someone’s pregnant, it’s past the point of reconsidering the relationship.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, cutting into her eggs and bacon. “I never _actually_ thought that Hermione would ever get with someone like you,” she told him. “It’s strange to even think about it in a hypothetical situation.”

“What’s wrong with _me_?” His eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t even know me. I’m a wonderful person.”

“When someone says ‘ _you don’t even know me’_ it’s usually because they have issues. Or they’re a douchebag needing excuses.” She looked at him critically again, and shrugged her shoulders lazily. “I think you’re both, for once.”

“I don’t have issues,” he muttered.

“Only a _girl_ would refer to a dress as ‘periwinkle blue’”,” she stated. “Could you even tell periwinkle blue from any other shade of blue?” She chewed her food ponderously. “Also: who the fuck has an owl as a pet? Who has an _eagle_ owl in _England?”_

He ignored her and the further digs at Hercules. “Was there a real reason why you wanted to sit with me?”

“I just want to find the attributes that somehow attracted Hermione to you.” Her eyes slid to his hands and the way he chewed his food, watching him all too intensely, looking for mistakes or inconsistencies – anything that she could use to indulge her image of him. He was suddenly too aware of what he was doing and how he moved, anxious that he didn’t know how he was _supposed_ to behave in this situation. Draco tried not to let it get to him – or, at least, tried not to show that it was affecting him.

“That it? I could tell you that.”

“No thank you,” she said airily. “You seem like an unreliable opinion – and, like I said, a douchebag. I’d much rather make the decisions myself.”

“So ask Hermione.” He picked up his coffee – not _quite_ the Starbucks latte that he had gotten practically every morning for the past few years, but it’d had to do – and sipped the hot liquid.

“Can’t. She’s busy throwing up in your room. Besides, she seems embarrassed by you.”

Draco almost choked on his coffee, a bright red flush crawling up his neck. He set his coffee down abruptly and cleared his throat; suddenly he wanted Hermione to be here and restrain her cousin. “Maybe she’s embarrassed by _you._ Are you always like this?”

“I’m a Granger,” she retorted.

He lowered an eyebrow. “Really. Fascinating.”

Just as Lauren was about to retort, someone moved into the chair next to her and so ended their discussion – or whatever it was. Draco watched him curiously as he had a much nicer, friendlier conversation with Lauren than she had ever had with him, and continued to eat his breakfast unhindered.

The man was slouched in his chair, but seemed to be a few inches taller than himself. His face was soft and stubbly, and his blond hair – darker than Draco’s by far, and more of a light brown than blond – was unkempt and unprofessional, as if he had just rolled out of bed and didn’t care about presenting himself. Even his clothes – a wrinkly t-shirt of some Muggle band and skinny denim jeans like the ones Hermione had made him wear yesterday – weren’t quite up to the standard as everyone else.

“And,” he said suddenly, turning to Draco with a smile, “you must be Hermione’s fiancé.” Lauren scoffed, but he still held out his hand for Draco to shake. “Nice to meet you. What was your name again?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin and took the man’s hand, giving it one firm shake. “Her boyfriend,” he corrected. It still didn’t sound good. “Draco Malfoy. And you are…?”

“Her publishing boss – and father of her child, I hear,” he countered, swivelling in his chair to face Draco head-on. One eye was a watery blue while the other was greener; Draco had never seen anything like it and couldn’t help but stare. He smiled again. “I’m Adam Dawson.”

“Adam,” Lauren chimed in, with a sly look at Draco, “is Hermione’s ex-boyfriend.”

Draco blinked as a light blush crawled up Adam’s neck. “Really, there’s nothing to be threatened by if she’s having a child with you. That’s like, huge.”

He tried to fake a smile. “Hermione’s never mentioned you.” He laughed in attempt at casualness, but it sounded more like someone had winded him. “I thought there was only ever Ronald Weasley.”

“Exactly,” Adam said. “So there’s nothing to envy. We’re good, right?”

“Right,” he lied. This was just another threat that could expose the invalidity of their relationship, and he had to watch him carefully. “You knew about Ronald Weasley, right? And he…knew about you?”

He huffed, as if he was frustrated, but he continued to smile. “I’ve met him once or twice when they were dating. And before.” He shrugged lazily. “Hermione doesn’t like to mix her two lives together.”

Draco nodded slowly. “I know,” he lied again. Though, it wasn’t really much of a lie; it was obvious that she didn’t mix her two lives together from the fact that he never knew about _this._ “I’m lucky to be a part of both ends.”

Adam bobbed his head and said, “That really is something to be proud of. You _really_ must be The One”. They fell silent after that, Adam turning back around to continue his conversation with Lauren, who was still watching Draco suspiciously, and he going back to quickly finishing his breakfast. He had taken longer than he had wanted to finish it, and it was impractical – he knew – to leave Hermione with a vomiting curse for that long.

* * *

 

 

Luckily, by the time he had gotten back to the bedroom, Hermione hadn’t passed out and choked on her own vomit.

He released her from the curses as soon as his foot passed the threshold (after he checked that no one was around that would’ve noticed the suspicious and sudden cease to her ‘morning sickness’), and he heard her begin her tired rants at him for making her endure that. Yes, it _was_ an assault, he agreed, and he was regretful that she had to endure that for as long as she had – “but look at you! You’re a real trooper, Hermione. You are at one with motherhood” – yet this was what she had to have expected by letting him take control of their pregnancy claims. Would he do it again? Was that a request, he asked her, or an actual question. She didn’t think that he was funny, but grudgingly accepted that it would happen again if someone showed up at their door in the morning; although, maybe he’d keep it on for a much shorter amount of time.

“Maybe you could just get drunk every night,” Draco had suggested. “Then in the morning when you’re throwing up it can be passed off as morning sickness.”

“And how am I supposed to get drunk when I’m not supposed to be drinking alcohol?” She retorted snidely, scarfing down the breakfast that Draco had brought her. “Also: wouldn’t the room just smell of alcohol if I did?”

He shrugged. “You could stick your fingers down your throat.”

“God, no.”

“Well then, it’s the curse or you _actually_ get pregnant. Your pick.”

She ignored him and continued to eat the breakfast that he had brought her; she was rather impressed that he had apparently chosen _all_ her favourites and she ate it as if she had been starved for a few days.

He stretched languidly in the armchair, watching Hermione from half-closed eyes as she sat cross-legged on the bed. “I met _Adam Dawson_ at breakfast. How come you didn’t tell meabout him, darling?”

“Oh yeah?” She said uninterestedly. “What did you think of him?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not my type,” he said. Hermione snorted. “He’s shabby. And smiles too much.”

“Not quite the ‘proper’ gentleman you were expecting then,” she said. She gave him a knowing look, taking a bite out of her buttered toast. “Did you expect him to be much like yourself?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” he sniffed. “You never even _told_ me about him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you about him now if it bothers you this much,” she said.

Draco opened his eyes and frowned. “It doesn’t bother me,” he said. “It was just a _surprise_ that I don’t even know about all my girlfriend’s ex-boyfriends. There’s all these things that I don’t know about you and we have to convince people that we’re together – and having a child.”

“I said I’ll tell you about Adam now, if you want. There’s no need to be so frustrated or infuriated about it – you could have just _asked.”_

“ _I don’t want to know about him_ ,” he stressed, pressing a hand into his forehead. “I just want to know _why_ there’s still things that you haven’t told me.”

She laughed in a relatively cold manner. “We’re not _friends_ , Draco,” she said.

His mouth hardened. “No. We’re partners.” He slouched in his chair. “We’ve always been partners, pet. You know all about me.”

Hermione had thought that he didn’t know that she was lying on the train. “That’s because you love to talk about yourself all the time.”

“And you don’t.” It was more of a question than a statement.

She smiled wryly. “Maybe you know me better than I thought.” At his insistent and deadpan look, Hermione was reminded of last night, when they had dutifully compromised to make this work for each other. She didn’t want to owe him – not in this whole circumstance, which was _his fault_ – but she had to. She sighed. “If you had known about my life here, you’d begin questioning me about why I’m working for _you_ and in a publishing company away from home – and I don’t want to answer those questions.”

“So, basically,” Draco said, “you think that I am – or would be - as bad as your father.”

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t ask those questions?”

He thought for a moment, then sharply nodded his head. “Yes.”

She set down her buttered toast on the plate, and looked at him carefully. “Alright,” she said after a few seconds. “What would you say?”

"So," he said, "you're rich-"

"My  _parents_  are rich-" She cut in.

"So, your  _parents_  are rich - why are you working at all? I mean, I understood why you were applying for my assistant before I knew about this, but now, I don't understand.”

She considered his question for a moment then said, “Why did you abandon Malfoy Manor and sell your father’s business?”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek. “This isn’t about me.”

“For once.” She picked up her toast again and took another bite out of it, all the while watching him carefully. “If you won’t answer my question, I won’t answer yours.”

His lip curled. “I already know your answer to my question,” he stated. “So this deal you tried to create is already over.”

She smirked. “So why did you ask?”

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Hermione. Hey.”

Draco bit his tongue; he had thought Adam had left ages ago, but maybe he was just hanging around until he saw Hermione. She relaxed in his arms and broke away before he could catch her, to pull Adam down into an embrace.

“Hey. _Hey._ Adam. _”_

Draco rolled his eyes; was this their couple thing? He thought it was disgusting and stupid and was decidedly going to stay in the background of their reunion until they were done and he and Hermione could continue to do what they had planned, but when Adam lifted her up, a warning of “careful”, slipped from his mouth. They looked at him, and Draco had to offer a hesitant smile.

“Of course,” Adam said seriously, setting her gently down. His hand moved towards her as if it was going to press against her stomach, but with another look at Draco, he brought it back to his side. When he spoke again, his voice seemed strained. “Congratulations on the baby, Hermione. You’re really glowing.”

Hermione took Draco’s hand and moved back to his side, complaining that they both thought that she was made of glass now that she was pregnant. “Glowing?” She asked.

He scratched the back of his head. “I, uh – I’ve heard that pregnant women “glow”.”

“Oh.” They both shared a curious look, one that knew of the ridiculousness of the compliment. “Thank you,” she said, turning back to Adam and smiling. “That’s very kind.”

He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and shrugged lazily. “So are you – enjoying it? Being pregnant.” He paused, and Hermione was about to answer, but he suddenly continued and she looked to the floor in embarrassment. “How far along are you? No one seems to have been told.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had been asking about Hermione and her baby, and Adam hadn’t thought to have inquired about it to him when they spoke at breakfast. He thought it was strange that an ex-boyfriend would be so interested in his ex-girlfriend’s new life and child, but maybe it really wasn’t. Maybe he was just friendly; they did seem to have been friends. Still, Draco felt rather threatened.

“I’m 3 weeks along,” she blurted. She laughed nervously, which sounded more like a rush of air leaving her mouth.

Adam’s eyes quickly flickered down to her stomach and then back up to her face. He smiled. “Wow,” he said. “That’s amazing. That’s so early on. When do you start having a-,” he curved his hand over his own flat stomach, “bump?”

They both blinked. This was exactly the sort of problems that Hermione was talking about last night, and now they were caught, obvious to everyone that they had no idea what was going on. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “This baby came as a sort of surprise. We’re both horribly unprepared, but we’re both really happy.”

“We still have loads of time to prepare for its birth,” Draco said defensively. “And we’re going out today to pick up some pregnancy books.”

“This wasn’t planned?” Adam said, surprised. His eyebrows pulled down and he seemed concerned, the first time that Draco had seen him anything less than smiley since they met. “And you’re not even married, I hear.”

Hermione pressed her hand to her face and closed her eyes, and he looked between her and Adam, confused about what was happening. He’d understand it if Adam was a part of her family, or if he was obviously of a middle or upper class descent – but he wasn’t, or didn’t seem to be. “Not this, please.”

His face became less taut, and he took a step towards the both of them, pleading her name, but Hermione sidestepped him and bid him goodbye (“we really must be going. I don’t have time for whatever this was going to be”) as she and Draco exited out the front door.


	5. TRIPS TO CHURCH AND PREGNANCY RESEARCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ah I didn't expect this to be left with no updates for this long! I can only apologise and give you this new (slightly short) chapter. I hope you enjoy it, it went through a lot of editing to get to this final version! Thank you for your support!

* * *

CHAPTER 5: TRIPS TO CHURCH AND PREGNANCY RESEARCH

* * *

After another uncomfortable night in bed together – this time with Hermione cocooning herself with the quilt, leaving Draco to quietly freeze and wrest it from her in her sleep – Hermione and Draco were glad that they hadn't been woken up by any of her family. Instead, they woke up of their own accord, when they were completely rested and the sounds of outside morning life became too noisy to ignore. At almost 9 o'clock, they showered (separately) and dressed (splitting themselves between the privacy of the bathroom and the bedroom), before going down to the kitchen for breakfast (together).

Draco was slightly perturbed at the unusual quietness of the entire house. He'd been there for only a few days, and it had never been this silent, this seemingly empty; he was almost completely used to the nuances of family life in this house in his short time there, and found it more alarming than Hermione seemed to. Where he thought it was wrong, she shrugged him off, also unusually silent in the morning, and proceeded to cook them both an English Breakfast. They ate together at the table with sparse chatter, mostly about the information that they had gleaned from the several pregnancy books that they had bought the other day when she had taken him out into the town – which, to his utter astonishment, still had Granger-owned businesses littered about, meaning that the car-ride through there was most definitely _not_ a hallucination. Together, they arranged finer details of the plan.

She was 3 weeks pregnant, as she had told Adam by some compelling force. That meant that she had conceived about two or so weeks ago, and that they had around 9 weeks until she began to show her bump and completely dispel whatever claim that they were putting forward. From 12 weeks onward, she either _was_ or was _not_ pregnant, which meant that they had to stage a miscarriage before then or find a way to fake a baby bump until the timing and circumstances allowed it. They were hoping for the former currently, but they knew that with her entirely family being unpredictable, they had to be prepared to carry it on for even longer. Until then, they had to upkeep the morning sickness, overplay of emotions and the random aversions and cravings for particular types of food; on top of that, she was aware that she may have to fake the occasional headaches and lightheadedness, and was more than happy to participate in bogus feelings of fatigue.

"That," she had said, sipping a caramel latte that she had _also_ made for him, surprising him in her unrequested generosity, "will give us a fine excuse to escape any family time that has ran on for a tad too long."

He tried to breach the subject of how they were going to conceal the fact that she was still having a period – whenever and _if_ it decided to come on during this holiday – but Hermione wouldn't have it. They were boss and assistant, barely with understanding and the knowledge of the life that the other had lived, and definitely _not_ friends; there was no way that she was going to have a casual conversation with him, of all people, about her period. That minor detail was going to be undertaken by herself and herself only – and if she was extraordinarily lucky, something that she hadn't been in a while, he would never know that it had happened.

They lapsed into a vaguely uncomfortable silence after that. Hermione seemed more accustomed to the disappearance of noise than he was, which was fair enough considering that she was the one who usually lived here, but Draco, too, was accustomed to a quiet home and he just couldn't become used to this. Setting down his utensils, he asked Hermione once more, "Where is all your family? They can't still be asleep. That's unheard of."

She looked uncomfortable and brusquely told him that they were all "out".

"Out?" He repeated, disbelieving even that. He had a loose understanding that with her looking as uncomfortable as she did, and with an answer as aggressive as she had just given him, that he shouldn't continue to press it, but he just couldn't help it. His curiosity had to be satisfied. "Out without us? Without _you?"_

"Yes," she said simply.

He narrowed his eyes. "That's not fair. They didn't even tell us, or asked if we wanted to go."

"It doesn't matter, Malfoy. You wouldn't have even wanted to go."

"No," he said slowly, "but you obviously feel just as insulted by it." He took a sip of his latte. "So, where was it that the whole family went?"

"You wouldn't even know what it was."

His eyes narrowed. "Try me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ate her breakfast with overdramatic chews. "They've all gone to Church."

Draco blinked. That was a word that he definitely did not know or understand. In all the time that he had been immersed in Muggle culture, he had never heard of someone _going to Church._ He could tell that Hermione knew that he had no clue what she was referring to, but she did not attempt to explain what it was or why they weren't invited to it. His only thought was that it was perhaps somewhere that Wizards weren't allowed – but that was unlikely.

Wizards couldn't be banned from places, since only a minority knew that they existed; and the places that they really _weren't_ allowed to go to were common knowledge.

He sipped his latte once more, slowly, to draw out the time as he thought of something to say to her as she watched him with a deadpan expression. "And," he said, conceding, "what is that?"

She sighed heavily, as if it really was too much of a burden to indulge him or even think about it. "It's somewhere that Muggles go to pray. To worship."

Hermione wasn't sure whether the light in his eyes was mocking or genuine curiosity as he leaned imperceptibly forward and said, "Worship, _what?"_

"The Being whom is believed to have created this entire world; whom is believed to have died to save us all from sin. Christmastime is a big event for those who go to Church; it celebrates the lead up to His birth."

His eyes lighted further, and Hermione felt regret for telling him anything about Church as he told her that he should like to attend _Church._

"It sounds like the perfect opportunity, with the story starting at his birth. It sounds like the beginning. This would be perfect to show off in court."

"No," she said firmly, her entire face shutting down before his eyes. "We're not allowed."

He blinked. So there it was. His confirmation. They, as magical beings, had thought to be outcast from this one Muggle tradition – but still Draco had never heard of such a thing. He believed her to be bluffing at the very least; a dirty accusation to someone who seemed to be as upset by this discrimination as he, but it was his only thought. "Because of our blood," he asked, "or because of something else?"

Her mouth was set firm. "Because of our blood. Our magical blood."

His own mouth tightened, becoming petulant. "I've never heard of such banning," he said.

Some colour rose to her cheeks, her teeth grinding together. "You've never left Wizarding communities long enough and truly immersed in Muggle life to be aware of it."

A growl rose in his throat, knowing that she was lying to him, keeping something from him intentionally for the first time, but he quietened it. A feeling in the back of his head, wiggling and worming to the forefront of his mind - as he drank in her facial expressions and twitches, her body language - alerted him to the fact that this was instead a personal offence as he forced his fingers to relax. He grinned lazily even as his blood burned in his veins. "You seem very stressed this morning, darling," he said smoothly. "Too much stress can't be good for the little Malfoy."

"If his father would leave me alone for five minutes…," she muttered to herself.

"Nothing a little romp in the sheets won't fix, I'm sure."

She sucked her teeth. "I'm already pregnant, what more do you want?"

He tried not to shrink back from her abrupt snap or let the surprise show on his face. He had never pushed her this far before, and never had been so unaware to how close he was to crossing the line. His soul strained against its mortal cage, trying to reach hers, caress hers, as he wondered whether this was a moment that Muggles would pray silently to themselves in.

He prayed that it wasn't down to Henry for making her like this, after everything else that he had done to make her stay away from her home for so long. He prayed that she would let him help her, for once.

"I should at least like to see this building made for worship," he drawled, all petulance gone. "We can at least admire the Muggle architecture, can we not? Memories of learning knew Muggle traditions would surely help me this time around, would it not?"

She visibly relaxed a little, but she was still stiff. "You would've seen the buildings before; you just didn't know what they were."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't care; this empty house gives me the creeps. I need to get out until your family comes back." He stuffed a large bite of food into his mouth and swiped his plate from the table, taking hers along with him despite the fact that she hadn't exactly finished, and dumped them in the sink. "I should like to go outside and be shown Muggle architecture and culture by the girl - by my pregnant girlfriend - whose family seems to own this town. Maybe the fresh air will help you relax a little?"

Her lips twisted, and he saw that she was about to deny him. He leaned forward to grab his latte and took a swig, hoping that the caffeine gave him an idea, as it always did. Her lips parted, but-

He grinned wildly, and then, "I promise that I won't go inside, if we're truly banned."

* * *

She must wish for him to discover what was really wrong, she thought bitterly to herself, as she allowed him to press close to her side, their arms interlocked. He asked her questions about Muggle religion, the light in his eyes burning brighter as he became more knowledgeable.

He would've been a perfect companion for her in another life, but for some godforsaken reason she couldn't have that perfect, inquisitive gentleman. She was stuck, instead, with a conniving, manipulative bastard, who somehow laid his charm down so thickly that he had managed to convince her to take him to see the Church.

Draco watched her curiously, as he listened to her talk about _Christianity._ Apparently, it was the reason why her family were looking down upon them for having a child outside of marriage; if he had known, he told her, he would've fabricated the lie more in the courtroom to make them more favourable to her family.

Hermione told him that she didn't think that she could've handled being secretly married to him _and_ pregnant with his child all at once. She'd rather that he didn't try to cheat himself out of Azkaban in the first place.

She seemed to relax more talking about it outside, where they were freer and he was less pushy after having gotten his way. Hermione was still stiff, unused to being tucked so closely to his side, and her voice was still hard, not quite bitter but with a healthy amount (in his own, tempered opinion) of ire in it. He didn't voice his assumptions to her, but instead thought through the conversation that he wanted to have with her at the _Church._

They turned down a small pathway that veered away from the pavement that they were on, by a road, and into a small woodland patch. As he thought and contemplated and recalled, he brushed branches and brambles out of the way for Hermione to pass through, to her protests, as she led the way to a stone building that loomed in the near distance.

When they passed out of the thicket, Draco was pleased to note that his shoes, thanks to the frozen ground, had minimal amounts of mud on them. He also thought that the faint birdsong was lovely and that the isolated building (which Hermione informed him was, in fact, a _Church_ ) was mighty for its small size – but he was mainly pleased about his shoes. They were the last pair that he had brought before his wealth was confiscated, and of course, he spent as much of his wealth on these as he dared.

And as Hermione had previously told him in the kitchen, he _had_ seen several of those buildings before. This smaller version didn't mean much to him, and its stained glass windows were frosted over and seemed far less impressive.

However, he did think it was odd that this was a place that people gathered to worship; the fact that it was made of stone surely would've made it cold inside, and the idea of walking through a cemetery to get to the entrance was rather morbid and off-putting. Though, he reasoned, Muggles weren't able to see the ghosts drifting about the place like he and Hermione were. Perhaps that was why she was so reluctant to go anywhere near the place – which would mean that he was wrong in is assumption - but he knew that that wasn't it. That wouldn't be the reason she told him that wizards were barred.

Hermione paused at the gate that led into the cemetery, holding his arm tighter as he took a step past her. "This is as far as we go without trespassing," she said to him, pulling back so that he was in line with her.

There was a very, very faint sound of people singing coming from the church, probably only possible to hear because it was so silent, and he was slightly mesmerised. "I can't even get a closer look?"

She frowned and shook her head. "I didn't know that you were so into architecture."

He looked wolfish. "I just want to know what's so special about this place that they decided to put restrictions around it." He looked at her and cocked his head. "It's strange. At my Manor, there was always the faint hum of Wards. Are you sure that we can't step on this land?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason why you're so persistent to break the Law?"

He only smirked and moved towards the gate, his strong pull dragging her along behind him, against her protests.

"What are you doing?" She dug her heels into the ground as much as she could, but it was still frozen and provided no extra grip. "We can't go in there," she said adamantly.

He huffed out a laugh, his breath turning cloudy in the winter air. Draco looked to the closed gate with a smug expression, and then back at her. "Of course we can," he said. "I think they're lying to you, darling."

With one hand, he unlocked the gate and pushed Hermione into the cemetery, moving in quickly after her and shutting it once more. He looked to Hermione and cocked his eyebrow, before leaning against the frosty wood. She hissed at him. "Oh look," he said, amused at her horror. "We're in."

She beheld him with embarrassment and fury. It was only now did she allow herself to realise that he knew that she was lying this entire time. "You _bastard,"_ she snarled at him.

His eyes glinted. "I've been called worse _by_ worse than the likes of you."

She felt so betrayed, so angry and humiliated that she didn't know what to do, or how to solve it. She couldn't cope with his mockery or pity – or whatever it was that led him to do this.

She hit him.

Draco saw her hand coming, but decidedly didn't move out of its way. He _let_ her hand make contact with his cheek, the skin quickly going red in the cold and stinging even more because of it. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say, _Are you done yet?_

_No._ "You lied. You said that you _wouldn't_ go inside," she said.

"I said that I wouldn't go inside if we were _truly_ banned. My promise has been kept, thank you very much." The corners of his lips turned down at the edges. "Now, who told you that a Wizard couldn't come inside here?"

She stayed silent, seething and ashamed.

His voice became firmer as he repeated the question.

"Who do you think?" Hermione snapped. "The only ones who know that I'm a witch. My parents."

His lip curled. So it _was_ Henry. "And were you truly oblivious to the lie of being banned from this place – or were you just an obedient daughter, content to let them take this away from your life?" His hand wanted to reach out and touch her and pull her closer to him, to make her understand, but he knew that he'd scare or startle her away. "Your father clearly doesn't respect you, Hermione."

"It wasn't _just_ him." Fury at the force and tricks he'd used on her still lighted her eyes, but she ground her teeth and considered actually letting him know what plagued her about this place. She must've wanted him to know, she reminded herself, if she had succumbed to his charm about visiting it so easily. "They were never so devout before they discovered I was a witch," she said, "but afterwards they attended and prayed more often. It's a belief that any kind of magic is devilish. They must've felt so ashamed, so _cursed_ , to be the ones to have a witch daughter." She took a ragged breath and paused for a moment, calming herself down. There were tears in her eyes. Draco continued to watch her silently and solemnly, he could barely hold eye contact but his blood was singing once more with the shared rage and empathy. "I knew that I wasn't 'banned', but I wasn't welcome and that was good enough. It'd be wrong of me – of _us -_ someone cursed with devilish power, to taint such a holy place, I was told. I was left in that house, alone, every Sunday morning when they went out, until I was sent to Hogwarts. I hardly ever returned home for Christmas; they'd be out then, too. I've never gone back to here, never this far. And now – _now_ I'm pregnant outside of marriage too. Not to mention all the other horrid things that I've done: fighting in a war – _murdering_ in a war; aiding a criminal through lies; stealing." A harsh laugh fell from her lips. "They would think that I was truly evil. I _must_ be truly evil in this aspect."

"That's ridiculous," he said, so emphatically that Hermione would've believed that he was mocking her and refusing to understand anything that she had just said to him, if she was not watching his face. He seemed outraged on her part and more. She watched him lurch forward, and thought about backing away from him, humiliated at her admittance, but he caught her face in his hands and gently jostled her. "That's ridiculous," he said again, trying calm his ire. "I can't believe that they would do that to you. Why would they _ever_ do that to you? There's nothing evil about you, Hermione. There's nothing _wrong_ with you. It's not a curse to be Magical – it's a _gift._ "

A tear escaped, as much as she didn't want to cry or anything of the sort. But then another slid down her face. And another, and another. Draco wasn't sure what to do. As he muddled through his thoughts, his calloused thumbs brushed away the new tears trickling down her face, as she watched him with surprise; she hadn't quite expected it to go anything like this.

She didn't quite _want_ it to be like this, after years and years of not solving it for herself.

Hermione pushed back from him, and considered Apparating home, leaving Draco to retrace his steps back to the house. Yet, when he reached for her again and pleaded her name, she found it within herself to hiss back, "don't act like you understand any of this _or_ how I feel. Don't act like you don't think that this is the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard in your unrestricted life."

His eyes turned icy, encompassing any shred of empathy that she thought she saw there. He pushed off the gate and stepped towards her with such

deadliness, that this time she did take her own step backwards. "I know _exactly_ how you feel," he said, his voice low. Hermione would have preferred it if he was shouting at her, snarling and spitting like a dog, but he spoke deeply and slowly as if he was painstakingly trying to convince her. "You don't think that after my Death Eater lifestyle – after the war, where I, too, murdered – my freedom to go where I want or do what I want has changed? You don't think that it would be disrespectful - or _shameful -_ of me to go to public places, where some families may still be mourning. My parents are dead-," He hissed those words, and Hermione tried to be less infuriated when she heard his voice crack ever so slightly – "and I can't go visit their graves, which I had to pay a tremendous amount for, to have them placed with the other fallen, because of who I am and what I chose to do. Before I was ever warned that it would be disrespectful to show my face at the graveyard, I was openly attacked. But _that's_ wrong; they can't make me feel forever guilty for my teenage mistakes - for mistakes that I didn't out rightly commit myself." He turned his face slightly away from Hermione, mortified that he had let himself go like that. What was with this place, making himself and Hermione open up to each other like that? He hoped that this was going to be forgotten about. "You can't let these things limit your life. It's not your fault you're a witch; there's nothing you can do about it - and why should you want to?" He let all his breath flow out of him. "Wouldn't you agree that I'm the only truly evil one here?"

She blinked. A teardrop caught on her eyelash; they ignored it. She ignored his questions.

Draco reached for her again, the fire in his veins doused. She allowed him to draw her in closer, and promised to herself that she wouldn't accuse him or be suspicious of his empathy again without learning about his experiences; Hermione hoped that he would be less manipulative when wanting to know something or prove himself right. "Hermione," he said softly, "if you _want_ to go to church as one of the _purest_ and _good_ witches in the world, then you damn well can. And if you don't, that's fine; but you shouldn't let those ignorant shits make you feel ashamed for being a witch. You're the best witch there is."

She didn't know what to say to that. " _You_ made me feel ashamed of being a witch. Hypocrite."

To his credit, he didn't even so much as flinch away from her. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry; I understand now. But you never took any notice of what I - or anyone else - said about you being a witch at Hogwarts. You shouldn't do differently here. Whatever anyone says about it, _they're wrong."_

She didn't quite expect it to be like this, after years and years of not solving it for herself. Yet, maybe she had just needed someone to hold her hand and take her there and support her; someone who would know her as she was, as a witch – who was good and pure – and as someone who has been discriminated against, someone who would stand next to her and hold their ground. Someone who was similar to her in these aspects.

* * *

It wasn't as cold inside the church as Draco had imagined. He put it down to the number of people there, pressed closely together on the benches to create extra space for others; and perhaps the candles that they had lit and the lighting accounted for the extra warmth. He liked the atmosphere of the place too; he liked how finely it was decorated in the inside, and how the glass windows looked better within the building, with the flames and lights illuminating it. He liked how many people had gathered together for this (though many of them were Hermione's family) even though it was freezing outside – and, to Draco, a little bit of a cult thing.

After all, he would know.

He and Hermione had quickly and quietly slipped inside of the building, taking their place at the back doors so as not to create more of a disturbance. Barely anyone looked at them when they had entered, but that suited both of them just fine - although, Draco must admit that he wished that he knew where Jean and Henry were seated and whether they knew that they were now having _Mass_ in the presence of two of the Devil's minions. He wondered what the reactions of everyone else would be like if they knew, and entertained himself with those thoughts until the aging man – _The Priest –_ began talking to the gathered crowd. All throughout the _Mass,_ Draco contently listened to what was being said; his brows furrowed and forehead creased as he tried to keep up with _The Priest_. He knew that there was a lot of information that he was missing for him to truly come to grips with what was going on, but he didn't let that stop him.

Hermione, fantastically in her element, as she should be (though it had been almost two decades since she'd last gone, and even she said that it had changed), was more peaceful, as if their anger and feud outside had never happened. She felt so gratuitous to the man beside her – although still weary and puzzled over what had just come to pass – that when he whispered his questions and comments about what was happening to her, she answered him. She helped him find the songs in the hymnal, and smiled at his tentative (yet bawdy) singing; it was Draco's favourite part of the Mass, he would later tell her. She told him what to do before, during and after the _Eucharist._ Hermione told him why they did it, who _Jesus_ was and what happened with him quietly and quickly; he listened carefully, and then – he laughed suddenly and loudly.

Everyone's attention turned to him, and the service momentarily paused as they took in the crazed fool and his partner kneeling at the back of the church. With a small smile on her own reddening face, caused by the extent of his mirth and the understanding of it, she elbowed him in the ribs and apologised quietly to the clergy. When Mass had resumed and everyone had turned away from them, finally, with unimpressed and curious looks, they stood and began to file on to the end of the queue to receive _Communion_. He leaned down to her as they joined the queue. "These fools are hypocrites," he whispered. "The one they worship can perform magic - and they hate you for being able to do it?" He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him; she allowed him to, relaxing into his chest, and stayed there. "Don't ever listen to them again."

* * *

Once _Mass_ was over, they left _the Church_ together, Hermione glowing more than Draco (which was to be expected), but equally content. They did not hold hands, but Draco's itched to make that sort of physical connection with her; it seemed like the right symbolism, to show that they were with each other and he was lending his support – but this was also Hermione Granger, and he wasn't quite sure whether what he had done for her was as grand as he seemed to think it was. Their moment of closeness had passed.

Even when Hermione's parents saw them, with Adam and a few of her cousins, uncles and aunts milling about, who were standing by the gate that led away from _the Church_ and back to the house, they kept their distance from each other.

Hermione faltered in her step a little when she saw them all, which allowed Draco to momentarily hold her elbow to steady her; she looked at him and he dropped his hand, but they moved closer. Her family generally looked surprised to see her at church with them, solidifying the truth that Hermione hadn't been out with them on a Sunday in over a decade, but neither Jean nor Henry looked very impressed. As shocked as everyone else, yes, but more in a scandalised manner, which made Draco straighten himself into an authoritative position. Perhaps any of the expressions were due to the way that they had arrived to the _Mass_ or when he started laughing during the _Eucharist._

"Good morning," Jean said as they came closer. "How are you feeling today, dear? No morning sickness? I hope we didn't wake you both up this morning."

Jean interlocked her arm with Hermione's as Draco distanced himself again, and followed the party back to the house. He stayed close to her in case she needed it, but didn't want to look like he was intruding; he shared a glance with Henry over the heads of the ladies.

"We're fine, thank you," Hermione said. Draco wasn't sure if by "we" she meant to include him or the theoretical baby, but smiled at Jean nonetheless. "The ceremony today was lovely, wasn't it? Draco's never been before."

"Oh, really?" Jean said. She didn't sound surprised at all. "And what did you think of it?"

"Quite pleasant," he said. "After that experience, it seems to me that there's nothing stopping me from taking up religion."

Lauren, who was walking with them nearby and clearly eavesdropping on their conversation snorted quietly and Draco sneered at her. "You don't particularly seem like someone who would be interested in religion," she said.

"I wasn't aware that there were certain _types_ of people that could be involved," he retorted.

"There _aren't,"_ Hermione said, looking to Lauren. "He's only been to Mass once, he might not know if he's someone who could carry it on for life, but there's no harm in attending to see what it's like from now on."

"Church isn't a new sport that you can try out for a few weeks to see how it is and then drop it, Hermione; it's a commitment," Henry said. "And Mr Malfoy here doesn't even have enough commitment to marry you."

They both reddened. Jean chastised him for saying this so bluntly in front of the whole family; she hoped for no arguments on this day.

"I don't believe in speeding up a proposal for no other reason than to prevent a child from being a bastard," Draco spat before Hermione or anyone else had a chance to say something further. "Your daughter and I have our own life plans, and it is not your concern whether I will or never will marry her."

He could tell that he was offending them by implying that he may never have the intention of marrying Hermione – and, he thought, it was a shame that it was true – but he couldn't retract anything that he had said and he didn't want to. He would've taken the bullet as it came, but Hermione, ever the saint even when riled, tried to reason and diffuse the tension slightly.

"Mum, dad, look: he doesn't _need_ to marry me to show me commitment," she said firmly. "The very fact that he didn't leave me when we discovered that I was pregnant and is here with me right now is enough for me."

Henry grumbled, but stayed quiet after a look from his wife. The Granger party didn't speak much after that, making the walk back to the house tense - but Draco and Hermione both somewhat reveled in it.

* * *

After a roast dinner and dessert, Hermione claimed to be feeling exhausted after a very busy and exciting day and Draco escorted her back to their bedroom. In part, he was glad to do this as he didn't yet feel very comfortable with Hermione's family, but by doing this he was missing opportunities to worm his way in.

"I wanted to- not so much _thank you_ for today, but to say that I'm grateful for what you said," Hermione said as she curled up on the bed.

Draco disappointedly realised that they weren't just going to ignore what had happened today, and just nodded in return.

"It meant a lot," she pressed further, hoping for more of a response.

"Mhm," he hummed, choosing a pregnancy book from the shelf to read.

"Especially that you said sorry."

Draco dropped his head. He knew that he couldn't ignore this forever, particularly with her insistence to get a reply. "And I meant it," he said. "You better treasure it, Granger, you won't hear it again from me."

She tried not to smile. "Of course not," she said.

She picked up her own pregnancy book and paged through it as Draco joined her on the bed with his own. For the rest of the evening, and a bit longer into the night for Draco, they looked through these books and shared information with each other. They showed each other pictures and fine-tuned their plans, only interrupted by Lauren once or twice which only really seemed to bother Draco.

They had had a small moment today, a movement in their relationship. It was a weirdly nice moment, both of them reflected, to be able to confide in someone that sort of understood. In that cemetery and the _Church,_ they had been more like partners than they had ever been, and for a brief moment when he was lying in bed he thought maybe - just _maybe…_

But then she kicked him under the covers in her sleep and that moment was quickly over and never thought of again, much like what had happened outside the _Church._ Moments are brief and don't mean anything, he concluded. They were going to be back to normal tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that...

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.


End file.
